-  SOURCES  OF  EFFECTIVENESS 

IN 

PUBLIC   SPEAKING 

PSYCHOLOGICAL  PRINCIPLES  PRACTICALLY 
USED  IN  DEVELOPING  ABILITY  TO  SPEAK 


BY 

C.  EDMUND  NEIL 

Professor  of  Public  Speaking  in  Boston  University  and  Newton  Theological 

Institution.    Formerly  Professor  of  Public  Speaking  in 

West  Virginia  State  University. 


HINDS,  HAYDEN  &  ELDREDGE,  Inc. 

PHILADELPHIA  NEW  YORK  CHICAGO 


Copyright,  1920 
HINDS,  HAYDEN  &  ELDREDGE,  Inc. 


(State 


TABLE  OF   CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION 

I.    THE   NEW   AGE   AND   THE   NEW    STYLE    OF    SPEAKING;   THEIR 
CHARACTERISTICS  AND  THEIR  DEMANDS. 

PAGE 

1.  Present-day  speaking  more  simple  and  direct     ...  2 

2.  Present-day  speaking  built  out  of  the  daily  lives  of  the 

people   .....  ....  2 

3.  More  speeches  and  more  kinds  of  speeches  called  for  to- 

day      .     .          2-3 

4.  The  preparation  is  not  fully  meeting  the  demand    .     .          4 

5.  The  kind  of  preparation  essential  to  effective  speaking .       5-7 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  NATURE  OF  PUBLIC  SPEAKING  ...        8 

I.    THE     ESSENTIAL     CHARACTERISTICS     OF     TRUE     PUBLIC 

SPEAKING 8-10 

II.    FALSE  IDEAS  OF  SPEAKING:    . n 

1.  That  it  is  entirely  different  from  conversation    .     .     .  11-14 

2.  That  it  is  nothing  more  than  ordinary  conversation      .  14-15 
III.    DIFFERENT  VIEWS  OF  PUBLIC  SPEAKING  HELD  BY  DIFFERENT 

TEACHERS: 16 

1.  The  view  that  speech-manner  alone  is  of  real  conse- 

quence          16-17 

2.  The  view  that  speech-matter  alone  is  of  real  conse- 

quence       . 17 

IV.    THE  LOGICAL  RESULTS  OF  THESE  VIEWS 18 

V.    THE  CAUSE  OF  THE  FALSE  IDEAS  OF  SPEAKING: 

1.  The  effect  of  ignoring  Nature's  law  of  compensation     .  18-19 

2.  The  relation  of  this  law  to  art,  especially  to  the  art  of 

speech 19 

3.  What  speech  lost  through  failing  to  employ  the  science 

of  psychology 19-22 

v 


VI  TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 


a.    Nature's  way  was  slighted;   &.    An  artificial  way, 

substituted  22 

VI.  How  THE  IDEAS  OF  SPEAKING  ARE  BEING  TRANSFORMED: 

1.  The  laws  of  effectiveness  in  speaking 23-26 

2.  The  results  of  applying  these  laws 24-26 

VII.  FIRST  PRACTICE  IN  SPEAKING 26 

CHAPTER  II 
SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION   ....       28 

I.    THE  FUNDAMENTAL  FUNCTIONS  OF  THE  MIND  IN  SPEAK- 
ING           28 

1.  Definition  of  Sensation 28 

2.  Relation  of  Sensation  to  Imagination 29 

3.  Definition  of  Imagination 29 

4.  The  Purpose  of  Sensation  and  Imagination       .      .      .   29-31 
II.    WHY   STUDY   SENSATION   AND   IMAGINATION   TO    PREPARE 

FOR  SPEAKING 31-34 

1.  Five  reasons  for  studying  Sensation 31-32 

2.  Three  reasons  for  studying  Imagination       ....  32-34 

III.  THE  VALUE  OF  IMAGINATION  IN  PRACTICAL  LIFE     .     .     .  34-37 

IV.  IMAGINATION  AND  FANCY  CONTRASTED 37 

V.    THE  SENSES 39 

VI.    How  PERSONS  DIFFER  IN  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION    .        43 

VII.  THE  VALUE  OF  COMBINING  THE  SENSES  IN  SPEAKING  .     .        45 

VIII.  SECOND  PRACTICE  IN  SPEAKING 47 

CHAPTER  III 

THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION     49 
•. . 

i       I.    THE   LABORATORY    METHOD   TO   BE   USED   IN   THIS   DE- 
VELOPMENT               50 

II.    THE  NECESSITY  FOR  DEVELOPING  SENSATION  AND  IMAG- 
INATION TOGETHER     .          51 

III.  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENSE  OF  MOTION: 51 

i.    Reasons  for  beginning  with  this  sense 51 

IV.  EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  THE  SENSE  OF  MOTION:      .     .        52 

1.  Receiving  actual  sensations  of  motion  while  speaking          52 

2.  Reproducing   these  sensations  in  imagination  while 

speaking 53 


TABLE   OF  CONTENTS  Vll 

PAGE 

3.  Imagining   another   person    to   receive   these    same 

sensations 54 

4.  Application    of    these    experiments    to    Productive 

Imagination  , 54-56 

5.  Additional  experiments  in  the  Sense  of  Motion      .     .        56 
V.    DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENSE  OF  TOUCH: 

i.    Reasons  for  developing  Touch  next  after  Motion  .     .         57 
VI.    EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  THE  SENSE  OF  TOUCH:  .     .     . 
i.    Touching  material  objects;  2.  Imagining  these  same 
contacts;  3.  Imagining  another  person  experienc- 
ing   them;  4.   Application   of  work    done    in  i,  2, 
and  3,  to  practical,  constructive  speaking      .     .     .  59-63 
VII.    THE  VALUE  OF  DESCRIPTION  TO  THE  SPEAKER   ....        64 
VIII.    THE   MOST   EFFECTIVE   MENTAL   ATTITUDE   IN   DESCRIP- 
TION          66 

IX.    DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENSE  OF  SOUND: 

i.    Reasons  for  developing  Sound  next  after  Touch     .     .        67 
X.    EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  THE  SENSE  OF  SOUND    .     .     .  68-71  )t 
XI.    DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENSE  OF  SIGHT: 

i.    Advantages  of  developing  Sight  next  after  Sound     .     .         72 
XII.    EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  THE  SENSE  OF  SIGHT     .     .     .   74-77  , ,: 
XIII.    THE  OTHER  SENSES 77 

CHAPTER  IV 
CONCEPTION 78 

I.  DEFINITION  OF  CONCEPTION 78 

II.  A  PRIMAL  CAUSE  OF  EFFECTIVE  SPEAKING 79-82 

III.  THE  BASIS  FOR  CONCEPTION 83 

IV.  NEW  CONCEPTIONS  ESSENTIAL  TO  GROWTH 84 

V.  THE  SOURCES  OF  NEW  CONCEPTIONS 86-91 

VI.    PRACTICAL  SPEAKING  ON  CONCEPTION 92 

CHAPTER  V 
DEVELOPMENT  OF  CONCEPTION-BUILDING  .    .      93 

I.    THE  Two  GENERAL  CLASSES  OF  CONCEPTIONS: 

i.    Miscellaneous    Conceptions;    2.    Conceptions    for 
definite  speech     . 


Vlll  TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 

PAGE 

II.    MISCELLANEOUS  CONCEPTIONS: 

A.  Forming  Conceptions  of  Characters: 

1.  The  value  to  the  speaker 97 

2.  Good  and  bad  conceptions  formed  by  students  of 

speaking 98-101 

.3.    Experiments  in  building  conceptions  of  characters   .     102-103 

B.  Forming  conceptions  of  other  Miscellaneous  Things: 

i.     Conceptions  formed  by  students  of  speaking    .     .     104-108 

»<!•  2.    Experiments  in  forming  Miscellaneous  Conceptions     .       108 

III.    DAILY  PRACTICE  IN  CONCEPTION-FORMING 112 

CHAPTER  VI 

CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH    .       114 

I.    FOUR    CLASSES    OF    CONCEPTIONS    WHICH    AN    ORIGINAL 

SPEECH  REQUIRES 114 

II.    CONCEIVING  AN  APPROPRIATE  SUBJECT: 

1.  The  speaker's  knowledge  of  the  subject       .     .     .     .       115 

2.  The  speaker's  interest  in  the  subject 116 

3.  The  people's  interest  in  the  subject 117 

4.  The  singleness  and  concreteness  of  the  subject       .     .       119 
III.    CONCEIVING  A  DEFINITE  PURPOSE  IN    PRESENTING    THE 

SUBJECT; 

1.  The  purpose  of  entertaining 122 

2.  The  purpose  of  instructing 125 

3.  The  purpose  of  convincing 128 

4.  The  purpose  of  persuading 131 

CHAPTER  VII 

CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH    .     135 
CONCEIVING  A  DEFINITE  PLAN  FOR  PRESENTING  A  SUBJECT  135 

I.    How  THE  SUBJECT  AND  PURPOSE  PRODUCE  THE  PLAN       .       136 
II.    CONCEIVING    THE    THREE    GENERAL   DIVISIONS    OF    THE 

SPEECH 139 

III.    A  PLAN  FOR  A  NARRATIVE  SPEECH: 

i.     Conceiving  a  plan  for  the  Introduction  to  a  Narrative 

Speech 140 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS  ix 

PAGE 

2.  Conceiving  a  plan  for  the  Actual  Theme  of  a  Narrative 

Speech 143 

3.  Conceiving  a  plan  for  the  Conclusion  to  a  Narrative 

Speech 147 

IV.    A  PLAN  FOR  A  DESCRIPTIVE  SPEECH: 

1.  Conceiving  a  plan  for  the  Introduction  to  a  Descriptive 

Speech 148 

2.  Conceiving  a  plan  for  the  Actual  Theme  of  a  Descrip- 

tive Speech 150 

3.  Conceiving  a  plan  for  the  Conclusion  to  a  Descriptive 

Speech  153 

CHAPTER  VIII 

CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH     .     156 
CONCEIVING  A  DEFINITE  PLAN  FOR  PRESENTING  A  SUBJECT 

I.    A  PLAN  FOR  AN  EXPOSITORY  SPEECH: 156 

1 .  The  kind  of  Exposition  that  is  Appropriate  in  Speaking        156 

2.  Conceiving  a  plan  for  the  Introduction  to  an  Exposi- 

tory Speech 158 

3.  Conceiving  a  plan  for  the  Actual  Theme  of  an  Expos- 

itory Speech 159 

II.    A  PLAN  FOR  AN  ARGUMENTATIVE  SPEECH:  ....  164 

1.  Five  essential  qualities  of  an  Argumentative  Subject     .  164 

2.  Conceiving    an    Introduction  to   an    Argumentative 

Speech: 166 

a.    The  meaning  of  the  question  as  stated;  b.  The 
origin  of  the  question;  c.  The  personal  concern 
of  the  hearers;  d.  The  issues  to  be  settled     .       166 
3    Conceiving  a  plan  for  the  Actual  Theme  in  an  Argu- 
mentative Speech: 171 

a.  How  the  Main  Issues  become  the  Main  Headings   .       172 

b.  How  the  Minor  Issues  become  the  Sub-headings     .       174 

c.  The  function  of  Sub-headings  of  the  First  Rank       .       174 

d.  The  function  of  Sub-headings  of  the  Second  and 

Third  Rank 175 

e.  Conceiving   the   most   effective   sequence   of  all 

headings 178 

4.  Conceiving  a  plan  for  the  Conclusion  to  an  Argumen- 

tative Speech 179 


X  TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 

PAGE 

jail.    EXPERIMENTS  IN  CONCEIVING  A  PLAN  FOR  AN  EXPOSITORY 

SPEECH 180 

IV.    EXPERIMENTS    IN    CONCEIVING    A    PLAN   FOR   AN   ARGU- 
MENTATIVE SPEECH 180 

CHAPTER  IX 

CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH     .     181 
CONCEIVING  THE  FINAL  PREPARATION  WHICH  THE  SUBJECT 

REQUIRES l8l 

I.    THE    FOUR    GENERAL    CLASSES    OF    EFFECTIVE    FINAL 

PREPARATION 181 

II.    CONCEIVING  WHAT  KINDS  OF  ARTICLES  TO  READ    .     .     .      182 

III.  CONCEIVING  How  TO  READ  ARTICLES  FOUND     ....      185 

IV.  How    MUCH    WRITING    DOES    THE    FINAL    PREPARATION 

REQUIRE? 187 

V.    CONCEIVING  THE  AMOUNT  OF  PRACTICE  REQUIRED:      .     .  189 

1.  The  Impromptu  Style  of  Delivery 189 

2.  The  Extempore  Style  of  Delivery 190 

3.  The  Partially  Extempore  and  Partially  Reading  Style  .  194 

4.  The  Partially  Extempore    and  Partially  Memoriter 

Style 197 

5.  The  Reading  Style  of  Delivery 199 

6.  The  Memoriter  Style 202 

V  VI.    EXPERIMENTS  IN   MAKING  THE   FINAL  PREPARATION  FOR 

AN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH: 

i.  For  a  Narrative  Speech;  2.  For  a  Descriptive  Speech; 
3.  For  an  Expository  Speech;  4.  For  an  Argumen- 
tative Speech 204-206 

CHAPTER  X 

CONCEPTIONS  IN  LITERATURE  ....      208 

I.    WHAT   THE    SPEAKER    GAINS    BY    FORMING    SUCH    CON- 
CEPTIONS        208 

II.    THE   FOUR   ESSENTIAL   STEPS   IN   FORMING   CONCEPTIONS 

IN  LITERATURE 209 

III.  STUDENT  CONCEPTIONS  OF  LINES  FROM  LITERATURE      .     .  212 

IV.  EXPERIMENTS  IN  BUILDING  CONCEPTIONS  IN  LITERATURE  .  215 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS  XI 

CHAPTER  XI 

PAGE 

MEMORY 218 

I.    THE  SATISFACTION  OF  POSSESSING  A  GOOD  MEMORY     .     .  218 

II.    THE  REAL  VALUE  OF  MEMORY  IN  LIFE 218 

III.  CAN  MEMORY  BE  CULTIVATED?      ....          ...  219 

IV.  WHAT  ACTS  OF  THE  MIND  CONSTITUTE  MEMORY?   ...  220 
V.    WHERE  MEMORY  BEGINS 224 

VI.    ATTENTION  AND  MEMORY 225 

VII.    THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  MEMORY  FOR  SPEAKING:      .     .     .  227 

1.  The  law  of  accuracy  and  readiness  of  Memory  in 

Speaking        229 

2.  To  memorize  mere  words  destroys  Memory      .     .     .  230 

3.  The  value  of  Concreteness  in  developing  Memory       .  231 

4.  The  value  of  Action  in  developing  Memory      .     .     .  233 
VIII.    EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  THE  MEMORY 235 

CHAPTER  XII 

BODILY  ACTION  AND  ITS  CAUSES     ...  238 

I.    THE  WORLD'S  ESTIMATE  OF  ACTION 238 

II.    THE  CAUSES  OF  BODILY  ACTION: 241 

1.  The  relation  of  Conception  to  Bodily  Action    .     .     .  242 

2.  The  relation  of  Attitude  to  Bodily  Action   ....  242 
III.    PRACTICAL  SPEAKING  ON  BODILY  ACTION  AND  ITS  CAUSES  250 

CHAPTER  XIII 

UNDESIRABLE  AND  DESIRABLE  ACTION    .    .  251 

I.    KINDS  OF  UNDESIRABLE  ACTION:  251 

1.  Action  that  is  predetermined,  unless  re-created      .     .  252 

2.  Action  that  is  made  for  self -display 254 

3.  Action  that  is  only  impulsive 256 

4.  Action  that  breeds  self -consciousness  in  the  speaker      .  259 

5.  Awkward  Action 262 

II.    KINDS  OF  DESIRABLE  ACTION:        266 

i.    Action  of  Symbolism;    2.  Action  of  Purpose;   3.  Ac- 
tion of  Identification 269 

III.  PRACTICE    IN    SPEAKING    ON    UNDESIRABLE    AND    DESIR- 

ABLE ACTION „     .     .  269 

IV.  EXPERIMENTS  TO  REMOVE  FAULTS  OF  ACTION    ....  269 


Xll  TABLE  OP  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XIV 

PACK 

ACTION  OF  SYMBOLISM 271 

I.    THE  DIFFERENT  WAYS  IN  WHICH  ACTION  OF  SYMBOLISM 

is  USED .     .  271 

II.    THE  NATURE  AND  THE  CAUSE  OF  SYMBOLIC  ACTION     .     .  271 

/III.    EXPERIMENT'S  TO  DEVELOP  SYMBOLIC  ACTION     ....  275 

CHAPTER  XV 

ACTION  OF  PURPOSE 282 

I.    FIVE  CLASSES  OF  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE 282 

II.    ACTION  OF  PURPOSE  TO  RECEIVE  IMPRESSIONS:  ....  282 
i.    What  causes  such  action?    2.    What  is  its  value  in 

speaking? 283 

3.    Experiments  hi  Action  of  Purpose  to  Receive  Impres- 
sions      284 

III.  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE  TO  REPEL  THE  UNDESIRABLE:  287 

1.  The  cause  of  such  action  and  its  effectiveness  in  speak- 

ing         288 

2.  Experiments  in  Action  to  Repel  the  Undesirable      .     .  288 

IV.  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE  TO  CONQUER  THE  OPPOSING: 

1.  Situations  calling  for  this  action  in  speaking     .     .     .  292 

2.  Experiments  in  Action  of  Purpose  to  Conquer  the 

Opposing 293 

V.    ACTION  OF  PURPOSE  TO  LET  THE  AUDIENCE  EXAMINE  THE 

THING  DISCUSSED:    .  297 

1.  The  causes  and  the  functions  of  this  form  of  action  .     .  297 

2.  Experiments 300 

VI.    ACTION  OF  PURPOSE  TO  EMPHASIZE  THE  THING  DISCUSSED.  308 

CHAPTER  XVI 

ACTION  OF  IDENTIFICATION  AND  GENERAL  ACTION  310 

I.    IDENTIFICATION  AND  MIMICRY  CONTRASTED 310 

II.    THE  LAW  OF  IDENTIFICATION 312 

III.  ACTION  TO  FOLLOW  THE  ALLURING 313 

IV.  IDENTIFICATION  AND  IMPERSONATION  CONTRASTED    .     .     .  314 
V.    EXPERIMENTS  IN  ACTION  OF  IDENTIFICATION       .     .     .     .  315 

VI.    PANTOMIME  AS  A  DEVELOPER  OF  GENERAL  ACTION       .     .  318 

VII.    EXPERIMENTS  IN  GENERAL  ACTION 320 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS  xiii 

CHAPTER  XVII 

PAGE 

THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR  SOURCES  ...  324 

I.    VARIOUS  ESTIMATES  or  EMOTION 324 

II.    THREE  KINDS  OF  FEELINGS: 325 

1.  The  Sensational  Feelings:    a.  Their  Source  and  their 

Nature 326 

b.    Why  they  should  be  distinguished  from  Emotion    .  327 

2.  Two  Kinds  of  Emotion,  the  Constructive,  and  the 

Destructive 331 

a.    Desirability  of  the  former;  b.  Undesirability  of  the 

latter 333 

III.  THE  SOURCES  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 334 

IV.  THE  RELATION   OF   BODILY  ACTION  TO   EMOTION:    THE 

DIFFERENT  THEORIES 336 

V.    THE  PROCESS  OF  FAITHING  AND  THE  PROCESS  OF  FEAR- 
ING:    344 

a.  What  these  Processes  are 344 

b.  Their  relation  to  Bodily  Action  and  to  the  Emotions  346 
VI.    THE  RELATION  OF  FAITHING  TO  THE  ACT  OF  COMMUNI- 
CATING IDEAS 350 

VII.    PRACTICAL    SPEAKING    ON    THE    FEELINGS    AND    THEIR 

SOURCES 352 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  EMOTIONS    ...  353 

I.    THE  WORK  OF  REPRODUCING  THE  EMOTIONS      ....  353 

II.    EXPERIMENTS  IN  THE  EMOTION  OF  DELIGHT 354- 

III.  THE  EMOTION  OF  HUMOR 357 

IV.  EXPERIMENTS  IN  THE  EMOTION  OF  HUMOR 360 

V.    EXPERIMENTS  IN  THE  EMOTION  OF  COURAGE      .     .     .    364-369 

VI.    EXPERIMENTS  IN  THE  EMOTION  OF  PATHOS    ....    370-375 

VII.    DEVELOPMENT  OF  OTHER  EMOTIONS 377 

CHAPTER  XIX 

SIZE  OF  VOICE 378 

I.    THE  VALUE  OF  THE  VOICE  TO  THE  SPEAKER      ....  378 

II.    WHY  SPEAKERS  NEGLECT  THE  VOICE 379 

III.    QUALITIES  OF  VOICE  AND  THEIR  SOURCES 381 


XIV  TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 

PAGE 

IV.    THE  CAUSES  OF  SIZE  OF  VOICE: 382 

1.  The  size  of  things  discussed 384 

2.  The  size  of  the  place  in  which  one  speaks 385 

3.  The  size  of  the  purpose  which  prompts  one  to  speak.     .  388 
V.    PRACTICE  IN  SPEAKING  ON  SIZE  OF  VOICE 390 

VI.    EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  SIZE  OF  VOICE: 390 

1.  Through  the  Size  of  the  Things  Discussed  ....  392 

2.  Through  the  Size  of  the  Auditorium 395 

3.  Through  the  Size  of  the  Purpose  that  Prompts  the 

Speech 397 

CHAPTER  XX 

STRENGTH  OF  VOICE 400 

I.    SOURCES  OF  VOCAL  STRENGTH 401 

II.    THE  FIRST  LAW  GOVERNING  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE   .     .     .  404 

III.  THE  SECOND  LAW  GOVERNING  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE       .     .  405 

IV.  THE  THIRD  LAW  GOVERNING  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE        .     .  409 
V.    PRACTICE  IN  SPEAKING  ON  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE       .     .     .  410 

^     VI.    EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE      .     .     .  411 

CHAPTER  XXI 

ENDURANCE  OF  VOICE 417 

I.    THE   RELATION   OF    SIZE    OF   VOICE   AND   STRENGTH    OF 

VOICE  TO  ENDURANCE  OF  VOICE 417 

II.    SOURCES  OF  VOCAL  ENDURANCE:    ' 418 

1.  The  Physical  Source 419 

2.  The  Mental  Source .  420 

III.  THE  LAW  OF  ENDURANCE  OF  VOICE 421 

IV.  PRACTICE  IN  SPEAKING  ON  ENDURANCE  OF  VOICE       .     .  425 
V.    EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  ENDURANCE  OF  VOICE   .     .     .  426 


' 


CHAPTER  XXII 

PURITY  OF  VOICE 430 

I.    THE  MEANING  OF  PURITY  OF  VOICE 430 

II.    CAUSES  OF  VOCAL  IMPURITIES 431 


TABLE   OF  CONTENTS  XV 

PAGE 

III.  THE  FOUR  PRINCIPAL  VOCAL  IMPURITIES;  REMEDIES  FOR 

EACH: 431 

1.  Nasality 431 

2.  Throatiness 436 

3.  Breathiness 440 

4.  Mouthiness        445 

IV.  THE  RELATION  OF  ARTICULATION  TO  ENUNCIATION        .     .  450 
V.    THE   FUNDAMENTAL  NEED   IN  ALL   EFFORTS  TO   SECURE 

VOCAL  PURITY 453 

VI.    PRACTICE  IN  SPEAKING  ON  PURITY  OF  VOICE      ....  453 

VII.    EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  VOCAL  PURITY 454 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

PAUSE 459 

I.    ONE  OF  THE  FUNDAMENTAL  MODES  OF  EMPHASIS    ...  459 

n.    PAUSES  IN  SPEAKING  AND  IN  CONVERSATION      ....  459 

III.  THE  PRIMARY  SOURCE  OF  THE  PAUSE 460 

IV.  THE  SECONDARY  SOURCE  OF  THE  PAUSE        461 

V.    DISTINCTION  BETWEEN  PAUSE  AND  HESITATION       .     .     .  462 

VI.  THE  EVIL  OF  SUPERFICIAL  RULES  FOR  PAUSING  ...  465 

VII.  How  PAUSES  VARY 467 

VIII.  PRACTICE  IN  SPEAKING  ON  PAUSE  470 

IX.    EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  PAUSE       470 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

CHANGE  or  PITCH 475 

I.    THE  DIFFERENCE  BETWEEN  CHANGES  OF  PITCH  IN  CON- 
VERSATION AND  IN  READING  OR  SPEAKING     .     .     .     .  475 
II.    THE  CAUSE  OF  CHANGE  OF  PITCH 476 

III.  DISTINCTION   BETWEEN    CHANGE  OF  PITCH  AND  INFLEC- 

TION         478 

IV.  RELATION  OF  CHANGE  OF  PITCH  TO  PAUSE 479 

V.    ARBITRARY  RULES  ONLY  DETRIMENTAL 481 

VI.    THE  VALUE  OF  CHANGE  OF  PITCH 482 

VII.    How  MAY  CHANGE  OF  PITCH  BE  DEVELOPED    ....  484 

VIII.    PRACTICE  IN  SPEAKING  ON  CHANGE  OF  PITCH    ....  487 

IX,    EXPERIMENTS  IN  CHANGE  OF  PITCH 487 


XVi  TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXV 

PAGE 

INFLECTION 491 

I.    THE  POWER  OF  INFLECTION  AS  A  MEANS  OF  EMPHASIS     .  491 

II.    THE  ELEMENTS  OF  INFLECTION: 492 

1.  Direction  of  Inflection 493 

2.  Length  of  Inflection 495 

3.  Abruptness  of  Inflection 497 

4.  Straightness  of  Inflection        498 

III.  PRACTICE  IN  SPEAKING  ON  INFLECTION 502 

IV.  EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  INFLECTION: 503 

1.  Experiments  to  Develop  Direction  of  Inflection     .     .  503 

2.  Experiments  to  Develop  Length  of  Inflection   ...  507 

3.  Experiments  to  Develop  Abruptness  of  Inflection  .     .  509 

4.  Experiments  to  Develop  Straightness  of  Inflection      .  511 

CHAPTER  XXVI 

SUBORDINATION 516 

I.    THE  OUTGROWTH  OF  THE  THREE  PRECEDING  MODES         .  516 

II.    SUBORDINATION  NOT  SUBJUGATION 516 

III.  THE  SOURCE  OF  SUBORDINATION 519 

IV.  THE  PHYSICAL  FORM  OF  SUBORDINATION 520 

V.    WHAT  SUBORDINATION  DOES  FOR  THE  AUDIENCE:  522 

1.  It  adds  beauty  as  well  as  emphasis  to  spoken  language  .  522 

2.  It  enables  the  audience  to  think  creatively    .     .     .     .  522 
VI.    LIMITATIONS  OF  SUBORDINATION S24 

VII.    DEVELOPMENT  OF  SUBORDINATION 526 

VIII.    PRACTICE  IN  SPEAKING  ON  SUBORDINATION 527 

IX.    EXPERIMENTS  IN  SUBORDINATION 528 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

VOCAL  MOVEMENT 532 

I.    VARIOUS  USES  OF  THE  TERM 532 

II.    MOVEMENT  AND  TEMPO 532 

III.    THE  SOURCES  OF  MOVEMENT 533 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  XV11 

PAGE 

IV.    THE  DIFFERENT  KINDS  OF  VOCAL  MOVEMENT    ....  535 

V.    THE  RELATION  OF  MOVEMENT  TO  SUBORDINATION        .     .  541 
VI.    THE  RELATION  OF  MOVEMENT  TO  BODILY   ACTION  AND 

EMOTION 543 

VII.    DEVELOPMENT  OF  MOVEMENT: 545 

1.  Practice  in  Speaking  on  Movement 545 

2.  Experiments  to  Develop  Vocal  Movement        .     .     .  546 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

TONE-TEXTURE  AND  TOUCH    ....  550 

I.    THE  SOURCES  OF  TONE-TEXTURE 550 

II.    THE   RELATION    OF   TONE-TEXTURE    TO    BODILY    ACTION 

AND  EMOTION 555 

III.  THE  RELATION  OF  TONE-TEXTURE  TO  THE  "QUALITIES" 

OF  THE  VOICE 557 

IV.  PRACTICE  IN  SPEAKING  ON  TONE-TEXTURE 560 

V.    EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  TONE-TEXTURE         ....  560 

VI.    TOUCH 564 

VII.    LAWS  GOVERNING  TOUCH 564 

VIII.    THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  TOUCH: 565 

i.    Experiments  to  Develop  Touch 565 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

PERSONALITY  AND  PERSUASION      ...  567 

I.    RELATION  TO  THE  PRECEDING  SUBJECTS 567 

II.    DEFINITION  OF  PERSONALITY 569 

III     THE    DIFFERENCE    BETWEEN    PERSONALITY,    CHARACTER, 

AND  INDIVDDUALITY 572 

IV.    THE  MEANING  OF  THESE  TO  THE  SPEAKER 573 

V.    DIFFERENT  KINDS  OF  PERSONALITY 574 

VI.    DIVIDED  PERSONALITY 576 

VII.    Two  FUNDAMENTAL  DEFECTS  IN  PERSONALITY   ....  576 

VIII.    INDIVIDUALITY  THE  BASIS  FOR  PERSONALITY 578 


XV111  TABLE   OF   CONTENTS 


IX.    SOCIAL    PERSONALITY,    THE   TRANSFORMER   FOR   INDIVID- 
UALITY      580 

X.    THE  ELEMENT  OF  EMOTION  IN  SOCIAL  PERSONALITY     .     .  583 

XI.    THE  DEPENDENCE  OF  PERSUASION  ON  PERSONALITY     .     .  585 

XII.    THE  ELEMENT  OF  THE  AUDIENCE 586 

XIII.    RELATION    OF    BOTH   TO   WELL-ROUNDED    SPEAKER   AND 

SPEECH 588 


NEIL  SPEECH 


INTRODUCTION 

ON  June  16, 1858,  there  occurred  at  Springfield,  Illinois,  a  re- 
markable incident.  On  that  day  Abraham  Lincoln  accepted 
the  nomination  for  the  office  of  United  States  Senator.  Mr. 
Lincoln  realized  that  a  crucial  time  in  his  life  had  arrived.  He 
knew  that  every  man  who  hopes  to  be  a  leader  of  men  must  be 
ready  to  speak  when  occasion  demands.  With  his  keen  fore- 
sight, Mr.  Lincoln  had  seen  that  if  he  should  be  nominated, 
he  must  make  a  speech  and  that  upon  that  speech  would  largely 
depend  his  future  success.  He  wished  to  be  ready  to  make  the 
most  effective  speech  of  which  he  was  capable.  He  was  looking 
forward  to  assuming  the  duties  of  senator.  All  wise  men,  on 
approaching  new  situations,  wish  to  know  what  men  have  done 
in  similar  situations.  Mr.  Lincoln  wished  to  observe  what 
successful  senators  had  said  on  important  occasions.  He 
naturally  turned  to  the  greatest  speech  of  the  greatest  American 
senator  and  orator,  The  Reply  to  Hayne,  by  Daniel  Webster. 

Mr.  Webster  began  that  famous  speech  in  these  words: 

Mr.  President,  When  the  mariner  has  been  tossed  for  many  days 
in  thick  weather,  and  on  an  unknown  sea,  he  naturally  avails  himself 
of  the  first  pause  in  the  storm,  the  earliest  glance  of  the  sun,  to  take 
his  latitude  and  ascertain  how  far  the  elements  have  driven  him  from 
his  true  course.  Let  us  imitate  this  prudence,  and,  before  we  float 
farther  on  the  waves  of  this  debate,  refer  to  the  point  from  which  we 
departed,  that  we  may  at  least  be  able  to  conjecture  where  we  now 
are. 


2  INTRODUCTION 

Mr.  Lincoln  was  struck  with  the  forcefulness  of  that  intro- 
duction. He  felt  that  he  could  not  do  better  than  to  begin  his 
own  speech  with  the  thought  which  it  contained.  But  when 
that  thought  fell  from  Mr.  Lincoln's  lips,  it  came  in  these  few 
most  memorable  words:  "  Mr.  President:  If  we  could  first 
know  where  we  are,  and  whither  we  are  tending,  we  could 
better  judge  what  to  do,  and  how  to  do  it." 

Let  us  follow  the  teaching  of  these  sublimely  simple  words  of 
"the  greatest  American."  Let  us  first  inquire  where  we  are 
and  whither  we  are  tending  in  the  work  of  speech  to-day.  Surely 
then  we  shall  best  know  what  to  do  and  how  to  do  it,  to  prepare 
ourselves  to  be  effective  speakers. 

The  two  men  to  whom  we  have  referred  stand  as  the  greatest 
of  American  speakers;  yet  they  are  as  different  as  two  men 
well  could  be.  Each  stands  as  a  representative  of  a  distinct  age 
and  style  of  speaking.  This  is  shown,  in  a  striking  way,  by  the 
manner  in  which  the  two  men  expressed  the  same  thought, 
quoted  above.  Webster  was  the  type  of  an  age  of  formal  and 
lofty  oratory;  Lincoln  was  the  type  of  an  age  of  simple  and 
direct  speech. 

This  new  style  of  speaking,  introduced  by  Wendell  Phillips 
and  Abraham  Lincoln,  has  grown  in  popularity  and  influence, 
until,  to-day,  it  is  the  ruling  style  of  the  world,  especially  of  our 
democratic,  American  world.  In  this  new  age  and  new  style  of 
public  speaking,  the  speaker  uses  simpler  language,  he  gets 
nearer  to  the  people  to  whom  he  speaks,  and  he  builds  his  speech 
out  of  the  daily  lives  of  those  people.  Now  it  happens,  in  the 
nature  of  things,  that  very  many  more  things  occur  in  the  daily 
lives  of  the  people,  than  occur  on  rare  and  unusual  occasions. 
Formerly,  public  speaking  was  largely  limited  to  those  subjects 
arising  out  of  unusual  occasions.  It  follows  that  very  many 
more  speeches  are  called  for  to-day  than  formerly. 

Not  only  more  speeches  are  called  for  but  more  speakers  are 
demanded.  Public  speakers  are  no  longer  limited  to  that  class 


INTRODUCTION  3 

of  "gifted  orators,"  who  were  as  rare  as  the  subjects  and  oc- 
casions on  which  they  spoke.  To-day,  every  man,  no  matter 
what  his  work  in  life  may  be,  who  hopes  to  rise  above  the  or- 
dinary, must  be  prepared  to  stand  upon  his  feet  and  express,  in 
an  effective  way,  his  ideas  concerning  the  work  in  which  he  is 
most  interested.  The  teacher  must  be  ready  to  address  the 
institute  or  the  board  of  education.  The  doctor  must  be  ready 
to  address  the  citizens  on  public  health,  or  to  state  his  views  and 
discoveries  to  an  association  of  medical  men.  The  engineer 
must  be  prepared  to  shape  and  lead  the  ideas  of  his  fellow-en- 
gineers by  speaking  to  them  of  their  needs  and  hopes,  or  to  put 
forcibly  before  a  body  of  businessmen  the  plans  which  he  hopes 
they  will  adopt.  The  businessman  must  prepare  himself  to 
speak  to  his  salesmen  in  so  effective  a  manner  as  to  increase 
their  sales,  or  to  an  audience  of  capitalists  in  such  a  way  as  to 
induce  them  to  invest  their  money,  or  to  a  convention  of  fellow- 
businessmen  to  persuade  them  to  adopt  new  standards  for  their 
common  business.  To  be  sure,  thousands  of  men  in  these  pro- 
fessions and  in  all  the  other  callings  are  succeeding  to  a  certain 
degree  without  being  able  to  make  a  speech  before  an  audience. 
But  that  man  is  very  short  sighted  who  cannot  see  that  he  is 
limiting  his  full  usefulness  in  the  community  in  which  he  lives, 
and  limiting,  too,  his  chances  for  advancement,  if  he  does  not 
prepare  himself  to  make  a  clear  and  effective  speech.  Since 
women  are  now  rapidly  joining  in  the  activities  which  formerly 
fell  to  men  alone,  including  political  duties,  it  is  self-evident 
that  women,  also,  must  enter  this  field  of  practical  speaking  on 
practical  affairs. 

Another  fact  that  is  strikingly  noticeable  in  the  public  speak- 
ing of  to-day,  is  that  the  successful  speech  is  short.  Not  only 
is  there  a  demand  that  every  young  man  and  every  young 
woman  who  aspires  to  leadership,  shall  be  ready  to  discuss  some 
phase  of  the  practical  affairs  of  life;  there  is  also  a  demand  that 
the  speaker  accomplish  his  work  in  the  shortest  possible  time. 


4  INTRODUCTION 

Let  a  nominating  speaker  at  a  political  convention  begin  to  grow 
''flowery"  and  verbose,  and  he  is  likely  to  hear,  from  all  sides, 
such  cries  as  "Name  your  man!"  Who  is  the  popular  preacher 
to-day,  the  one  who  preaches  an  hour  or  the  one  who  speaks 
twenty  minutes  or  less?  In  the  business-speech,  of  whatever 
kind,  the  demand  is  even  more  insistent,  that  the  speaker  who 
takes  the  time  of  the  audience,  do  effective  work  and  that  he  do 
it  quickly. 

Still  another  fact  that  arrests  our  attention  as  we  examine 
the  public  speaking  that  is  done  to-day,  is  that  the  number  of 
speeches  that  really  succeed,  compared  to  the  number  that  are 
made,  is  exceedingly  small.  One  is  forcibly  reminded  of  the 
scriptural  declaration  that  "many  are  called  but  few  are  chosen." 
Only  yesterday  a  prominent  newspaper-man  said  to  the  writer: 
"There  is  certainly  nothing  that  demands  improvement  more 
than  present-day  speaking.  The  poor  layman  is  made  to  suffer 
unknown  tortures  in  listening  to  some  of  the  speeches."  He  had 
listened  to  and  reported  many  of  them  and,  therefore,  knew 
whereof  he  spoke.  Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  so  many 
speeches  are  demanded,  and  that  every  man  and  woman,  in 
every  calling,  should  be  prepared  to  speak,  it  is  all  too  evident 
that  the  preparation  is  not  fully  meeting  the  demand. 

In  these  observations  we  see  both  "where  we  are  and  whither 
we  are  tending."  This  brings  before  us  the  double  question 
"What  shall  we  do  and  how  shall  we  do  it?"  The  wide-awake 
student  has  already  answered  that  he  must  get  the  very  best  possible 
preparation  for  speaking.  He  knows  that  everyone  who  is 
educated  owes  it  to  himself  and  to  his  community,  so  to  use 
the  education  he  has  received  as  to  make  him  the  greatest 
influence  which  he  is  capable  of  being,  for  the  public  good.  He 
sees  that  to  prove  himself  such  an  influence,  he  must  be  ready  to 
speak  when  the  needs  of  his  community  demand  it.  He  sees 
that  the  times  when  this  demand  may  come  to  him,  are  con- 
stantly increasing.  He  sees  that  he  must  be  ready  to  build  his 


INTRODUCTION  5 

speech  out  of  the  circumstances  and  conditions  of  the  hour,  that 
he  must  be  ready  to  do  this  on  short  notice,  and  that  he  must  do 
it  with  effective  power.  Finally,  by  the  large  number  of  those 
who  attempt  to  meet  these  requirements  and  fail  for  lack  of  the 
right  kind  of  preparation,  the  alert  student  sees  that  he  must  find 
a  preparation  better  than  that  of  the  average  speaker  of  to-day. 

With  this  general  idea  of  "what  to  do,"  before  us,  we  are 
ready  to  consider  the  second  part  of  the  question,  "how  to  do 
it."  Just  what  kind  of  preparation  should  the  intending  speaker 
make?  Clearly,  he  should  have  the  best  general  education  he 
can  get;  but  is  this  enough?  If  we  look  about  us,  the  question 
answers  itself.  Many  of  our  most  educated  men  are  among 
the  worst  speakers.  There  must  be  special  preparation  for 
speaking.  Since  everyone  should  be  prepared  to  speak,  it  is 
clear  that  the  method  of  preparation  should  be  so  simple  and 
direct  that  all  can  use  it.  Since  a  large  majority  of  those  who 
should  have  some  education  in  speaking,  are  those  who  do  not 
intend  to  follow  speaking  as  a  profession,  but  who  have  specially 
prepared  themselves  for  some  other  vocation,  it  is  clear  that  the 
best  method  by  which  to  prepare  to  speak  is  the  one  that  will 
bring  desirable  results  in  the  shortest  time.  In  every  activity 
to-day,  there  is  a  search  for  those  things  which  cause  (which 
will  actually  bring  forth)  the  highest  efficiency;  hence,  the  course 
in  speaking  that  meets  the  demands  of  the  times,  is  the  course 
that  sets  forth  clearly  the  causes  of  effective  speaking,  and 
develops,  in  the  speaker,  these  causes. 

For  years,  the  author  of  this  book  has  been  making  an  earnest 
search  for  that  method  of  educating  the  speaker,  that  will  best 
meet  these  demands.  It  was  seen  that  many  of  the  methods 
in  use  to-day  develop  in  the  speaker  those  qualities  of  voice  and 
action  which  are  necessary  to  the  most  effective  speaking;  but 
while  they  do  this,  they  take  the  speaker's  mind  away  from  his 
subject  and  the  audience.  The  result  is,  that  the  speaker  who 
is  educated  by  such  a  method,  becomes  a  less  original,  less 


6  INTRODUCTION 

ready,  and  less  effective  thinker.  It  was  observed,  also,  that 
other  methods  now  in  use,  make  the  student  of  speech  a  better 
thinker;  but  they  do  not  develop  either  the  voice  or  the  action  of 
the  speaker.  The  result  is,  that  the  speaker  who  has  followed 
such  a  method,  falls  far  short  of  that  full  effectiveness  hi  speak- 
ing which  he  might  and  should  have.  The  author  of  this  book 
believed  that  both  these  benefits  might  be  obtained  at  once.  He 
believed  that  if  those  parts  of  man's  nature  which  cause  effective 
speaking,  could  be  discovered  and  developed  in  each  student  of 
speech,  the  student  would  then,  at  one  and  the  same  time, 
acquire  the  graces  of  accomplished,  effective  speech  and  become 
a  more  ready,  more  original,  and  more  effective  thinker. 

To  prove  whether  such  results  could  be  obtained,  the  author 
followed  the  plan  of  modern  science;  he  made  the  class-room  a 
speech-laboratory.  Into  this  laboratory,  all  kinds  of  problems 
which  confront  the  speaker  in  practical  life,  were  brought. 
Students  of  all  grades  of  ability  in  speaking  and  with  all  kinds  of 
faults  to  be  overcome,  were  set  to  work  on  these  problems. 
Every  speaker  was  carefully  watched  to  discover  what  things 
actually  cause  him  to  do  the  most  ready,  orderly,  spontaneous, 
and  effective  speaking. 

The  results  of  these  laboratory  experiments  have  been 
gratifying  beyond  expectation,  i.  The  experiments  proved, 
beyond  doubt,  that  all  the  elements  of  effective  speaking  can  be 
developed  without  taking  the  speaker's  mind  away  from  his 
subject  and  his  audience.  2.  They  proved  that  when  the 
speaker's  attention  is  turned  to  the  causes  of  effective  speaking, 
then  both  his  ability  as  a  thinker  and  his  graces  of  speech 
realize  their  most  rapid  and  full  development.  3.  The  ex- 
periments proved  that  when  this  method  is  followed,  the  speaker 
gains  more  and  more  spontaneity,  that  rarest  charm  and  power 
in  public  speech. 

Since  it  was  formulated  into  a  definite  system,  the  author 
has  given  this  course  of  study  the  telling  test  of  six  years'  class- 


INTRODUCTION  7 

room  use.  He  now  offers  it  to  the  public,  hoping  that  it  may 
bring  as  great  help  to  other  teachers  as  it  has  done  to  himself 
and  to  other  students  as  it  has  done  to  his  own.  The  book  is 
intended  primarily  for  students  beginning  the  study  of  speaking. 
Yet  the  laws  of  mind,  voice,  and  action,  here  set  forth,  are 
so  fundamental  and  essential  to  all  forms  of  speaking,  in  all 
stages  of  its  development,  that  the  work  is  equally  valuable  to 
mature  speakers. 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  NATURE  OF  PUBLIC  SPEAKING 

THE  nature  of  a  thing  has  been  denned  as  the  intrinsic 
or  essential  characteristics  of  that  thing.  Let  us  adopt  this 
usage  of  the  word,  and,  when  we  speak  of  the  nature  of 
public  speaking,  let  us  understand  that  we  refer  to  the  in- 
trinsic or  essential  characteristics  of  public  speaking. 

This  brings  before  us  two  questions.  What  is  public 
speaking?  and  what  are  the  essential  characteristics  of  it? 
We  answer  the  first  question  by  saying  that  we  shall  include, 
in  our  discussions,  all  forms  of  speaking  done  in  public. 
Any  message  which  is  presented  to  an  audience  in  words, 
is  public  speaking.  The  sermon  of  the  minister,  the  formal 
address  of  the  orator  on  any  special  occasion,  the  argument 
and  the  plea  of  the  lawyer,  the  impromptu  effort  of  the 
off-hand  speaker,  the  extempore  effort  of  the  ready  but  more 
careful  speaker,  the  part  enacted  by  the  actor,  and  the 
selection  from  literature  read  or  recited  by  the  public  reader, 
all  these  are  but  the  various  forms  of  public  speaking  as 
we  shall  use  the  term. 

This  is  a  broad  definition.     While  we  have  included  in 
it  all  forms  of  speaking  before  the  public,  however,  we  do 


THE   NATURE   OF   PUBLIC   SPEAKING  9 

not  include  all  the  grades  of  speaking,  from  the  best  to  the 
worst.  We  should  have  a  long  and  useless  search  if  we 
tried  to  find  the  nature  of  all  the  bad  speeches.  We  are" 
concerned  now  only  with  the  nature  of  good  speeches. 
We  might,  then,  re-state  the  second  question  asked  in  the 
second  paragraph  above,  in  these  words:  What  are  the 
essential  characteristics  of  public  speaking  that  is  worth 
our  consideration? 

To  put  the  question  in  this  form,  naturally  turns  our 
thoughts  to  the  speaking  that  has  lived  in  history,  for  per- 
haps the  best  test  of  the  real  worth  of  any  form  of  litera- 
ture, is  its  ability  to  endure  through  long  periods  of  time. 
By  this  test,  the  kind  of  speaking  most  worthy  of  our  con- 
sideration, will  be  the  kind  that  can  live  longest.  Let  the 
student  of  speaking  apply  this  test  to  the  literature  which 
has  been  contributed  by  the  public  speakers  of  the  world, 
and  he  will  not  only  find  some  of  the  essential  characteristics 
of  worth-while  speaking,  he  will  also  become  proud  of  the 
subject — public  speech.  He  will  realize  that,  if  the  worth 
of  literature  is  determined  by  its  ability  to  live,  some  of 
the  best  literature  of  every  age  is  found  in  its  public 
speeches. 

When  we  examine  any  of  these  speeches  which  have  lived 
through  the  centuries,  we  find  that  they  have  some  char- 
acteristics worthy  of  special  attention,  characteristics  which 
are  common  to  them  all.  Whether  we  read  the  speeches 
of  Moses  and  imagine  ourselves  in  his  audience  in  the 
wilderness ;  or  whether  we  read  the  words  of  Demosthenes, 
delivered  in  aesthetic  Athens;  or  whether  we  examine  the 
eloquence  of  Cicero,  as  he  addressed  the  powerful  Romans ; 
or  whether  we  listen  to  the  pleadings  of  Saint  Bernard  that 


10  THE   NATURE   OF  PUBLIC   SPEAKING 

come  to  us  out  of  the  dark  ages,  or  of  Luther  spoken  in 
the  dawning  of  a  new  era ;  or  whether  we  hear  that  group 
of  "silver  tongues"  of  three  nations  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, Chatham,  Mirabeau,  Henry  and  the  rest,  we  note 
that  in  every  speech  the  thoughts  of  the  speaker  became 
a  public  speech  because  they  were  public  thoughts.  A  whole 
people  turned  their  minds  to  the  speaker  because  his  mind 
was  turned  to  the  whole  people.  The  loyalty  of  a  nation 
raised  the  speaker  above  the  commonplace  and  preserved 
his  name  and  works  among  their  treasures,  because  his 
thoughts  had  risen  above  the  commonplace  and  because  he 
had  placed  above  all  else  the  welfare  of  the  people. 

These,  then,  are  the  essentials  of  public  speaking  that  is 
worthy  of  our  consideration.  The  only  characteristic  that 
can  make  any  speech  worthy  to  be  brought  before  the  public 
and  to  be  called  a  public  speech,  is  that  it  contains  some- 
thing of  value  to  the  public.  Whether  we  present  a  speech 
of  our  own  or  something  from  literature,  the  thoughts  we 
present  should  rise  above  the  commonplace  and  should 
manifest  an  honest  effort  to  help  the  people  to  rise  above 
the  commonplace  in  usefulness,  in  nobility,  or  in  happiness. 

If  a  public  thought  is  essential  to  any  speech  that  is 
worthy  to  be  brought  before  an  audience,  the  question 
naturally  arises  is  a  public  manner  essential?  Is  there  an 
essential  spirit  in  public  speaking?  Does  this  spirit  trans- 
form the  speaker  so  that  his  speaking  before  an  audience 
is  different  from  his  speaking  elsewhere  ?  These  are  points 
on  which  such  widely  different  ideas  are  found,  that  the 
most  satisfactory  answer  to  these  questions  will  be  reached 
by  examining  some  of  these  ideas. 


FALSE  IDEAS  OF  SPEAKING         II 


False  Ideas  of  Speaking 

It  is  highly  interesting  to  observe  the  notions  people  have 
of  this  subject.  Many  persons  seem  to  feel  that  public 
speaking  is  not  conversation.  When  they  say  anything  in 
public,  many  speakers  seem  to  feel  that  unless  they  make 
what  they  say  very  different  from  conversation,  they  fail 
in  their  efforts ;  and  they  measure  their  success  in  speaking, 
by  the  difference  between  their  speaking  and  the  talking 
of  one  person  to  another.  In  Eben  Holden,  "Uncle  Eb" 
tells  of  his  experience  at  the  commencement  exercises  where 
his  nephew,  William,  was  graduating  from  college.  He  de- 
scribes his  keen  disappointment  in  the  speech  of  the  President 
and  declares  with  much  disgust  that  he  could  understand 
every  word  the  President  said.  Then,  with  much  emphasis  and 
pride,  he  turns  to  his  nephew  and  says:  "When  you  got 
up,  Willie,  there  couldn't  no  dum  fool  tell  what  you  was 
talkin'  'bout."  How  many  of  us  have  Eben  Holden's  view 
of  the  matter?  We  may  not  actually  desire  to  make  our 
words  so  unnatural  that  others  cannot  understand  them; 
but  many  readers  and  speakers  are  so  much  more  anxious 
to  make  a  display  of  some  kind,  when  they  appear  before 
an  audience,  than  they  are  to  tell  the  simple  truth,  that  they 
often  do  more  to  conceal  than  to  reveal  the  truth. 

Those  who  regard  all  reading  and  speaking  in  public, 
as  entirely  different  from  conversation,  might  be  variously 
classified.  Students  who  hold  this  idea,  belong  to  one  of 
three  classes.  The  first  class  is  made  up  of  those  who 
regard  anything  to  be  read  or  spoken,  as  something  to  be 
"dressed  up  and  put  on  parade."  Let  us  call  them  by  the 


12  THE   NATURE   OF   PUBLIC   SPEAKING 

familiar  name  of  mere  declaimers.  A  beginning  class  in 
public  speaking  comes  before  us.  To  learn  what  they  think 
they  should  do  when  they  "speak,"  we  have  asked  each 
member  of  the  class  to  memorize  a  few  lines  of  some 
favorite  piece  and  recite  them.  We  noticed  a  certain  young 
man  come  into  the  room  in  a  very  easy,  natural  manner. 
He  was  talking  to  a  classmate  and  seemed  to  be  so  much 
at  home,  that  we  determined  at  once  to  let  him  open  the 
term's  work.  We  ask  him  to  take  the  floor.  No  sooner 
has  he  heard  his  name  called  than  a  strange  look  comes 
over  his  face.  Something  seems  to  have  happened  to  him. 
He  rises  from  his  seat  with  a  jerk,  pulls  himself  up  to  a 
stiff  and  rigid  attitude,  stares  wildly  before  him,  and  starts 
at  the  platform  as  if  to  attack  some  wild  animal.  Now 
he  wheels  upon  us,  plants  himself  firmly,  throws  up  his 
head,  tightens  the  muscles  in  his  throat,  and  fairly  roars 
the  words :  "To  him  who  in  the  love  of  Nature  holds  com- 
munion with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks  a  various 
language."  We  cry:  "Stop!  To  whom  are  you  speaking 
and  what  in  the  world  are  you  trying  to  do?"  With 
surprise  and  apparent  displeasure,  he  replies:  "Why,  I  am 
speaking  this  piece."  Speaking  this  piece,  indeed!  What 
an  unlovely  thing  Nature  must  be  as  this  young  man  sees 
her.  No,  that  is  just  where  the  mistake  comes  in.  He 
doesn't  see  Nature  at  all.  He  makes  no  pretense  to  see 
anything,  to  hear  anything,  to  touch  anything,  or  even  to 
feel  anything.  He  has  the  false  notion  that  when  a  person 
speaks,  he  becomes  another  being,  and  must  tell  things  in 
a  manner  entirely  different  from  the  way  he  would  tell 
them  to  a  companion. 

The  second  class  of  students  who  hold  this  false  notion 


FALSE  IDEAS  OF  SPEAKING         13 

of  public  speaking,  also  look  upon  anything  to  be  said 
before  an  audience,  as  a  formal  something  with  a  world 
of  its  own.  But  instead  of  taking  it  as  an  opportunity  to 
make  a  grand  display,  as  those  of  the  former  class  seem 
to  do,  they  regard  it  as  something  too  awful  to  be  trifled 
with.  The  very  thought  of  it  frightens  them  almost  to 
death.  Let  us  imagine  the  class  of  beginners  still  before 
us.  We  call  on  a  second  member  of  this  class.  It  is  a 
boy  whom  we  noticed  on  the  campus  a  while  ago.  We 
heard  him  call  to  his  friend  in  a  voice  that  could  be  heard 
a  block  away.  He  was  full  of  life  and  freedom.  The 
instant  we  call  his  name,  his  color  fades.  He  rises  as  if 
something  held  him  to  the  seat  and  walks  forward  in  a 
manner  that  would  suggest  that  he  is  feeble  from  a  fever. 
When  he  has  reached  the  platform,  he  has  hardly  strength 
enough  to  stand.  In  the  voice  of  a  sick  kitten,  he  whispers 
forth  the  fine,  strong  words  of  Scott:  "Come  from  the 
hills  where  your  hirsels  are  grazing.  Come  from  the  glen 
of  the  buck  and  the  roe.  Come  to  the  crag  where  the 
beacon  is  blazing.  Come  with  the  buckler,  the  lance  and 
the  bow."  Poor  fellow !  We  cannot  help  wondering  what 
he  would  do  if  a  fierce  warrior  should  answer  his  challenge 
and  appear  at  this  moment  armed  with  buckler,  lance  and 
bow.  He  would  probably  be  glad  to  have  the  warrior 
strike  him  down  and  put  an  end  to  his  misery.  And  why 
all  this  unnecessary  fright  before  an  audience?  He  would 
give  commands  as  bold  as  this  and  bolder  when  at  play 
with  other  boys.  This  boy's  trouble  arises  from  the  fact 
that  he,  also,  has  got  the  idea  that  speaking  is  different 
from  everything  else. 

The  third  class  of  students  who  regard  anything  to  be 


14  THE   NATURE   OF   PUBLIC   SPEAKING 

said  before  an  audience,  as  something  entirely  different 
from  conversation,  are  they  who  find  the  principal  difference 
in  the  action  which  they  imagine  speaking  to  require.  They 
tell  us  that  they  can't  speak.  When  we  ask  them  why, 
they  say:  "I'm  not  afraid  to  talk,  but  when  it  comes  to 
those  motions"  (here  they  illustrate  by  making  some  silly 
movements  of  the  arms  through  the  air)  "I  can't  do  that 
sort  of  thing."  We  ask  them:  "What  sort  of  thing?  Can't 
you  point  out  an  object  when  you  wish  someone  to  bring 
it  to  you  ?  Can't  you  hand  a  book  or  a  pencil  to  someone 
without  being  embarrassed  at  your  own  movement?  Can't 
you  push  away  something  that  offends  you  or  hinders  your 
progress  ?  Do  you  not  do  things  like  these  every  day  when 
you  are  talking  to  a  friend  ?"  "O  yes,  I  can  do  those  things 
when  I  am  not  speaking;  but  when  I  get  up  there  it's 
different."  It  is  evident  that  this  young  man  has  some- 
where got  the  idea  that  speaking  in  public  cannot  be  a 
success  unless  it  is  very  different  from  all  other  talking. 
It  is  evident,  also,  that  this  idea  causes  him,  and  all  others 
who  have  this  idea,  much  trouble  when  they  attempt  to 
speak. 

We  have  now  considered  three  classes  of  persons  all  of 
whom  have  the  idea,  in  different  forms,  that  public  speaking 
is  entirely  different  from  conversation.  There  is  another 
class  of  people  who  hold  quite  the  opposite  view.  They 
regard  public  speaking  as  nothing  but  conversation.  For  years, 
we  have  taken  advantage  of  every  opportunity  to  learn 
from  public  speakers  their  ideas  on  this  point.  We  have 
not  only  had  them  state  their  ideas,  but,  when  possible, 
we  have  made  the  better  test  of  studying  their  manner  of 
speaking.  These  inquiries  have  proved  that  a  very  large 


FALSE   IDEAS   OF   SPEAKING  15 

number  of  those  who  attempt  to  speak  in  public  to-day,  look 
upon  public  speaking  as  nothing  more  than  ordinary  con- 
versation.  Our  investigations  have  also  shown  that  this 
conception  is  a  false  one.  Every  speaker  who  attempts 
to  do  nothing  more  when  before  an  audience,  than  he  would 
do  in  speaking  to  a  single  person,  fails  to  prove  himself 
worthy  to  speak  in  public.  He  proves  himself  unworthy  in 
two  distinct  ways.  In  the  first  place,  there  is  much  that  he 
should  do  for  the  audience,  which  he  does  not  do.  In  the 
second  place,  he  lowers  the  public  regard  for  the  great 
art  of  speech.  We  find  that  people  come  together  in  a 
public  audience,  not  only  to  hear  public  thoughts  expressed 
but  also  to  have  the  speaker  lift  them  to  greater  heights 
of  feeling  than  they  can  reach  alone.  When  a  speaker 
feels  that  his  speech  should  be  nothing  more  than  ordinary 
conversation,  he  never  rises  above  ordinary  feeling,  so  how 
can  he  lift  his  audience  as  they  expect  him  to  do?  Or 
how  can  the  people  continue  to  think  of  public  speaking 
as  the  great  art  that  it  is,  when  the  speakers  they  hear, 
do  little  more  for  them  than  they  can  do  for  themselves? 
There  is  abundance  of  proof  that  this  idea  has  done  much 
to  lower  the  ability  of  speakers  and  the  high  standing  of 
public  speech. 

Where  have  our  inquiries  led  us?  They  have  led  to 
but  one  conclusion.  Public  speaking  is  different  from  con- 
versation but  not  entirely  different.  A  closer  analysis  shows 
that  public  speaking  is  conversation  enlarged,  expanded, 
and  ennobled.  A  public  speech  of  any  kind  proves  to  be 
unworthy  of  the  name  whenever  the  speaker  attempts  to 
make  his  utterance  wholly  different  from  conversation;  but 
a  speech  proves  itself  equally  unworthy  whenever  the 


16  THE   NATURE   OF   PUBLIC   SPEAKING 

speaker  fails  to  be  lifted,  by  his  subject,  above  ordinary 
conversation. 

When  we  stop  to  think  about  it,  it  seems  to  be  so  self- 
evident  that  any  speech  before  an  audience  should  be  con- 
versation enlarged,  expanded  and  ennobled,  that  we  wonder 
how  such  false  ideas  as  we  have  been  considering,  could 
ever  have  arisen.  We  wonder  the  more  how  such  ideas 
could  ever  have  become  so  prevalent  and  so  damaging  both 
to  the  speaker  and  the  reputation  of  speech.  The  author 
became  intensely  interested  in  this  thought  a  number  of 
years  ago.  Investigation  proved  that  one  or  another  of 
the  false  ideas  named  above,  is  held  by  large  numbers  of 
those  who  have  made  more  or  less  of  a  special  study  of 
speaking.  This  made  it  seem  more  than  likely  that  these 
ideas  are  acquired  during  the  study  of  speaking.  In  fact 
many  persons  were  found  who  said  openly  that  they  got 
their  false  ideas  from  their  study  of  speech.  This  made  it 
clear  that  if  we  are  to  get  at  the  source  of  these  false  ideas, 
we  must  find  out  what  conceptions  of  public  speaking  and 
of  the  teaching  of  it,  are  held  by  those  who  teach  it. 

The  author  thought  it  would  be  a  decided  service  to  the 
cause  of  speech,  to  ascertain  what  teachers  of  public  speak- 
ing think  of  the  nature  of  the  subject  they  are  teaching. 
He  began  to  make  inquiry.  These  inquiries  soon  revealed 
the  fact  that,  of  the  teachers  of  this  subject,  the  majority 
is  divided  into  two  classes.  The  first  class  is  made  up  of 
those  who  devote  almost  their  entire  attention  to  the  manner 
in  which  a  speech  is  presented.  They  find  so  much  work 
to  be  done  in  training  the  student  to  speak  in  an  elegant 
manner,  that  they  have  little  or  no  time  to  devote  to  the 
thought-process  by  which  the  speech  is  built.  These  teachers 


FALSE  IDEAS  OF  SPEAKING         17 

train  the  student  to  make  many  graceful  movements  and 
to  use  the  voice  in  many  shades  of  expression,  but  the 
student  who  was  trained  in  this  way  was  found  to  be  giving 
almost  his  entire  attention  to  the  manner  of  his  speaking, 
just  as  his  teacher  had  done.  This  proved  to  be  a  matter 
of  serious  importance.  The  student  who  spoke  in  this 
manner  was  becoming  more  and  more  artificial.  He  was 
paying  so  little  attention  to  his  own  thinking,  that  the  more 
time  he  put  on  his  speaking,  the  less  capable  thinker  was 
he.  The  result  was  unfortunate  both  for  the  student  and 
for  the  teacher;  for  in  many  institutions  in  which  this 
kind  of  teaching  was  found,  it  was  also  found  that  neither 
faculty  nor  students  had  the  highest  regard  for  the  work  in 
speaking. 

The  second  large  class  of  teachers  of  public  speaking,  was 
found  to  be  made  up  of  those  who  have  seen  the  error 
of  the  first  class  and  have  determined  to  avoid  that  error 
at  whatever  cost.  These  teachers  have  become  so  thor- 
oughly displeased  with  the  "niceties  of  speaking,"  as  they 
say  in  derision,  that  they  refuse  to  pay  particular  attention 
to  the  manner  in  which  a  speech  is  presented.  They  feel 
that  good  speech-matter  is  the  only  thing  of  prime  im- 
portance in  a  speech.  Therefore  they  devote  their  efforts 
to  training  the  student  to  get  his  facts  together  and  to 
present  those  facts  in  logical  order.  They  attempt  little 
more  than  this.  The  student  who  studies  under  this  kind 
of  instruction,  is  a  much  better  thinker  than  the  one  who 
is  trained  to  pay  first  attention  to  his  manner  of  speaking, 
but  much  of  real  effectiveness  in  speaking  he  does  not  gain. 
The  author  discovered  that,  for  this  reason,  in  nearly  every 


1 8  THE  NATURE   OF   PUBLIC   SPEAKING 

institution  where  this  kind  of  teaching  was  done,  the  regard 
for  public  speaking  was  lower  than  it  should  be. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  speaker  who  has  come  to  look 
upon  speech  as  something  entirely  different  from  conversa- 
tion, is  the  logical  product  of  teaching  that  pays  first  atten- 
tion to  manner.  The  speaker  who  regards  speaking  as 
nothing  more  than  ordinary  conversation,  is  just  as  logical 
a  product  of  the  teaching  that  pays  attention  to  nothing 
but  the  matter  presented. 

Fortunately  there  is  an  increasing  number  of  teachers 
who,  to-day,  are  avoiding  both  these  extremes  and  are 
doing  much  to  remove  false  ideas  of  speaking. 

The  Cause  of  the  False  Ideas  of  Speaking 

Such  a  wide-spread  misconception  of  Speech  surely  has 
a  cause.  What  is  it?  Let  us  find  it  if  we  can.  In  nature 
there  is  a  law  of  compensation  that  works  in  this  way: 
if  we  cheat  Nature  of  her  rights  in  one  direction,  she  will 
equalize  affairs  by  making  us  substitute  something  for  what 
we  have  omitted.  Directors  of  physical  training  often  quote 
the  saying :  "If  you  do  not  take  time  for  exercise,  you  will 
have  to  take  time  to  be  sick."  No  one  can  lose  his  regular 
sleep  without  paying  for  it  sooner  or  later.  He  will  either 
take  time  to  be  sick,  or  he  will  take  time  to  rest  up,  or  he 
will  substitute  a  stimulated  strength  for  Nature's  own.  So 
you  may  trace  this  principle  throughout  all  of  Nature's 
activities.  Now  an  art  is  a  reproduction  of  various  phases 
of  Nature,  for  certain  purposes.  An  art  is  worth  nothing 
unless  it  follows  the  laws  of  Nature.  Speech  is  an  art, 
hence  is  subject  to  this  law.  Therefore,  since  we  find  a 


CAUSE   OF  FALSE   IDEAS   OF   SPEAKING          19 

wide-spread  false  notion  of  speech,  is  it  not  likely  that 
there  has  been  some  serious  neglect  of  Nature  somewhere 
in  this  art  and  that  an  unnatural  way  of  speaking  has  been 
substituted  for  Nature's  own  way? 

If  there  are  laws  of  speech,  they  must  be  laws  of  the 
mind;  for  speech  is  simply  the  result  of  the  effort  of  one 
mind  to  convey  ideas  to  other  minds  in  such  a  way  as  to 
bring  about  certain  results.  If  something  has  been  neglected 
in  the  art  of  speech,  the  thing  neglected  must  be  some  of 
these  same  laws  of  mind.  This  is  exactly  the  case.  Through- 
out the  centuries  two  great  subjects  for  man's  thought  and 
profit  have  needed  each  other.  Each  has  suffered  a  loss 
because  it  was  not  aided  by  the  other.  These  subjects  are 
Psychology  and  Speech.  Each  of  these  subjects  has  been 
studied  as  if  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  other.  The 
loss  to  speech  has  been  most  serious. 

What  has  speech  lost  by  not  employing  the  science  of 
psychology?  It  lost  a  science.  What  do  we  mean  by  that? 
We  mean  that  it  failed  to  find  out  Nature's  way  of  building 
effective  speech.  Everything  in  the  world  has  a  cause. 
Everywhere  we  pass  from  cause  to  effect.  Speech  has  a 
cause;  that  cause  is  a  certain  condition  and  action  of  the 
mind.  That  is,  every  phase  of  speech  comes  from  a  certain 
condition  and  comes  through  a  certain  action  of  the  mind. 
These  conditions  and  actions  are  capable  of  being  known. 
Nature's  ways  are  constant;  a  condition  of  the  mind  that 
brings  forth  a  certain  effect  in  speaking  at  one  time,  will 
bring  forth  that  same  effect  at  all  other  times.  (We  are 
using  the  word  "effect"  here  in  the  sense  of  kind  and  grade 
of  speaking,  not  in  the  sense  of  effect  on  the  listeners.) 

Now  if  it  is  true  (and  we  shall  find  abundant  proof  of 


2O      THE  NATURE  OF  PUBLIC  SPEAKING 

it)  that  an  action  of  the  mind  that  brings  forth  a  certain 
kind  and  grade  of  speaking  at  one  time,  will  bring  forth 
that  same  kind  and  grade  of  speaking  at  all  times,  it  is 
clear  that  the  study  of  Speech  should  be  an  effort  to  acquire 
a  working  knowledge  of  the  process  of  thinking  for  others. 
By  the  term  "thinking  for  others/'  we  mean  thinking  in 
the  presence  of  others,  while  speaking  to  them,  so  that  others 
may  see  what  we  see.  It  should  not  be  necessary  to  do 
anything  more,  in  preparing  to  speak,  than  to  learn  this 
process  and  then  to  develop  it  through  use.  Effective 
speech  should  be  the  result.  Conversely,  we  should  expect 
that  when  this  cause  of  effective  speaking  is  neglected,  no 
amount  of  attention  paid  to  the  effect,  that  is  the  manner 
of  speaking,  could  really  bring  forth  natural  speaking.  We 
should  expect  to  find  the  speech  produced  in  any  other 
way  than  by  developing  the  process  of  thinking  for  others, 
an  artificial  thing,  should  we  not? 

Yet,  notwithstanding  these  facts,  a  careful  investigation 
of  the  history  of  speech,  shows  that,  for  centuries  it  was 
taught  as  if  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  psychology.  Teachers 
of  public  speaking,  long  ago,  began  to  pay  attention  to 
the  effect  instead  of  the  cause.  If  a  deep  voice  was  desired, 
the  whole  attention  was  turned  to  the  voice.  No  effort  was 
made  to  discover  what  attitude  of  mind  and  what  process 
of  thinking  produces  a  deep  voice.  What  was  the  result? 
Simply  that  the  voice  was  an  artificial  thing.  It  was  no 
child  of  Nature  any  more  than  the  cosmetic  on  a  painted 
face  is  the  product  of  good  health.  If  an  appealing  style 
of  speaking  was  desired,  an  effort  was  made  to  cause 
the  voice  and  the  face  and  the  action  to  seem  like  the  voice 
and  the  face  and  the  action  of  someone  who  had  had  an 


CAUSE   OF   FALSE   IDEAS   OF   SPEAKING          21 

appealing  style.  As  if  anything  could  be  a  fit  substitute 
for  the  thought-process  that  had  produced  the  emotion 
which  they  had  observed !  You  might  as  well  try  to  raise 
the  food  you  eat  by  keeping  your  field  looking  like  the 
field  of  someone  else  without  putting  the  seed  in  the  ground. 
If  it  was  observed  that  effective  speakers  pause  a  good  deal, 
an  effort  was  made  to  discover  where  the  pauses  were 
made.  It  was  thought  that  if  others  would  pause  in  like 
places,  their  speaking,  too,  would  be  effective.  The  idea 
that  in  that  pause  which  the  effective  speaker  had  made, 
he  was  forming  a  new  conception  in  his  mind,  was  wholly 
ignored.  The  result  was  that  every  speaker  who  tried  to 
pause  where  someone  else  had  paused  had  no  mind  left 
for  thinking. 

Some  thought  had  to  be  presented  whenever  anyone 
stood  before  an  audience.  These  artificial  methods  for  pro- 
ducing speech  had  taken  the  minds  of  the  speakers  away 
from  those  paths  of  thought  which  would  bring  forth  any- 
thing of  their  own  worth  listening  to.  -  Nothing  was  left 
for  the  speaker  to  do  but  to  borrow  the  thought  of  someone 
else.  This  they  did,  and  "Elocution"  came  to  be  a  system 
of  training  to  recite  or  declaim  something  already  prepared. 
Even  those  speakers  who  spoke  their  own  words,  through 
such  training,  came  to  feel  that  the  thinking  which  a  speech 
required  and  the  delivery  of  that  same  speech  were  two 
very  different  things.  After  the  speech  was  prepared,  the 
thinking  might  then  cease,  but  something  must  be  done  to 
that  speech  to  make  it  effective.  And  poor  speech !  What 
has  not  been  done  to  it!  It  has  been  made  to  appear  so 
different  from  the  simple,  earnest,  unaffected  conversation 
of  people  who  have  something  interesting  to  say  that  it  is 


22  THE   NATURE   OF   PUBLIC   SPEAKING 

no  wonder  that  many  persons  should  feel  that  Speech  is 
something  peculiar  and  wonderful,  but  something  for  others, 
not  for  them.  Do  these  observations  not  make  clear  the 
origin  of  the  many  false  ideas  of  public  speaking?  Is  it 
not  evident  that  the  peculiar  notions  of  speech  have  arisen 
from  the  fact  that  many  persons  have  had  in  mind  a 
substitute  and  not  Nature's  way  of  producing  effective 
speech?  Is  it  not  clear  that  this  artificial  method  of  speak- 
ing has  been  substituted  for  Nature's  own  way,  because 
the  laws  of  the  mind  which  produce  speech,  have  been 
neglected  and  ignored?  It  certainly  is  apparent  that  the 
art  of  public  speaking  has  suffered  greatly  for  the  lack 
of  psychology. 

There  was  an  old  psychology  and  there  is  a  new.  The 
new  is  better  than  the  old.  From  the  middle  to  the  close 
of  the  last  century,  this  subject  underwent  a  wonderful 
change.  Instead  of  holding  itself  aloof  from  the  people 
and  the  practical  things  in  which  the  people  are  interested, 
as  it  had  previously  done,  it  has  come  to  make  all  of  life 
its  laboratory.  At  the  present  time,  psychology  is  under- 
going another  change.  Some  of  its  most  able  followers 
are  specializing  and  practicalizing  the  study.  Teachers  of 
sociology  have  applied  psychology  to  that  subject.  They 
decided  that  all  this  knowledge  concerning  the  mind  ought 
to  be  put  to  some  use,  ought  to  be  made  to  serve  humanity. 
They  have  made  it  do  this.  They  have  made  a  remarkable 
application  of  its  principles  to  the  efforts  of  one  class  of 
people  to  deal  with  another  class  of  people,  and  humanity 
has  been  greatly  benefited  by  these  efforts.  President  Hall, 
of  Clark  University,  has  applied  psychology  to  the  peculiar 
needs  of  the  child  as  it  passes  through  the  most  vital  period 


CAUSE   OF  FALSE   IDEAS   OF   SPEAKING          23 

of  adolescence.  The  Psychological  Clinic  is  using  the  prin- 
ciples of  psychology  to  improve  our  system  of  education 
so  that  it  shall  bring  forth  healthier,  more  able,  and  more 
useful  citizens.  Much  is  being  done  in  the  psychology  of 
education.  Psychology  has  even  been  taken  into  the  field 
of  Justice.  Dr.  Miinsterberg,  of  Harvard  University,  de- 
clared that  if  criminals  are  tried  according  to  psychological 
principles,  with  psychological  experts  as  examiners,  stricter 
justice  will  be  done  both  to  the  prisoner  and  to  society. 
In  all  these  new  fields,  psychology  is  winning  for  itself  a 
new  name,  a  new  fame,  and  the  lasting  gratitude  of  hu- 
manity. 

Commendable  as  is  the  work  of  psychology  in  all  these 
other  lines  of  activity,  we  believe  that  there  is  a  still  greater 
work  for  it  in  the  field  of  speech.  We  believe  this  for 
three  distinct  reasons.  First,  because  speech  so  greatly  needs 
psychology  to  raise  speaking  to  its  highest  degree  of  use- 
fulness, as  we  have  already  seen.  The  second  reason  is 
that  psychology  still  needs  the  help  of  speech  to  bring  it 
to  its  highest  usefulness.  The  third  reason  is  that  speech, 
when  rightly  understood,  proves  itself  the  basis  of  applied 
psychology  in  all  the  special  fields  where  psychology  may 
be  applied.  The  truth  of  the  second  and  third  reasons 
becomes  apparent  when  we  examine  the  thing  that  applied 
psychology  attempts  to  do.  What  is  it  men  attempt  when 
they  apply  psychology  to  law,  to  politics,  to  sociology,  or 
to  education?  Examine  the  work  and  you  cannot  fail  to 
realize  that  the  fundamental  thing  which  men  attempt  in  all 
these  fields,  is  to  teach  men  to  adapt  their  lives  to  the 
lives  of  their  fellow-men.  How  can  this  be  done  so  well 
as  through  the  laws  of  mind  which  govern  the  communica- 


24  THE   NATURE   OF   PUBLIC   SPEAKING 

tion  of  ideas  from  mind  to  mind?  These  laws  are  the 
laws  of  speech,  and  it  is  self-evident  that  they  are  the 
means  provided  by  Nature  for  accomplishing  the  work 
which  applied  psychology  attempts. 

When  psychology  has  become  universally  applied  to 
speaking  and  to  the  teaching  of  speech,  there  is  every  reason 
to  believe  that  the  false  ideas  of  speaking  will  cease  to 
exist.  There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  public 
speaking  will  then  command  the  highest  respect  in 
every  institution  in  which  it  is  taught,  and  will  be  recognized 
as  one  of  the  most  thoroughly  educative  subjects  we  have 
in  all  our  educational  system. 

That  public  speaking  deserves  such  a  place  in  our  educa- 
tion, is  apparent  to  everyone  who  knows  the  subject.  Dr. 
James,  of  Harvard  University,  one  of  the  greatest  psychol- 
ogists of  all  time,  says  (Talks  to  Teachers,  pp.  33-34)  : 

No  reception  without  reaction,  no  impression  without  co- 
relative  expression — this  is  the  great  maxim  which  the  teacher 
ought  never  to  forget.  .  .  .  An  impression  which  simply  flows 
in  at  the  pupil's  eyes  and  ears  ...  is  an  impression  gone  to 
waste.  .  .  .  The  most  durable  impressions  are  those  on  account 
of  which  we  speak  or  act. 

These  principles,  if  fully  applied,  will  make  speaking  the 
most  important  study  the  mind  can  pursue.  What  other 
subject  in  all  our  long  curricula  of  to-day  develops  all 
three  of  man's  natures,  his  mind,  his  body,  and  his  spirit, 
as  does  the  work  in  speech  when  it  is  studied  through 
the  laws  of  psychology?  We  know  no  other  subject  that 
does  this.  When  we  contemplate  this  fact,  we  do  not 
wonder  that  the  wisest  philosopher  who  has  ever  lived, 
should  consider  speech,  in  its  true  nature,  as  one  of  the 
most  important  subjects  for  the  study  of  mankind.  We 


CAUSE   OF  FALSE   IDEAS   OF   SPEAKING          25 

do  not  wonder  that  Aristotle  devoted  much  of  his  best 
endeavor  to  discover  the  essential  characteristics  of  the 
speech.  Had  psychology  not  been  divorced  from  speech, 
we  firmly  believe  that  the  true  nature  of  public  speaking 
would  never  have  been  lost,  and  that  speech  would  have 
held  its  place  in  the  very  forefront  of  education,  throughout 
the  centuries,  as  it  is  now  rapidly  coming  to  do,  through 
the  excellent  work  of  some  of  our  present  day  teachers. 

To  bring  speaking  to  this  high  standard  of  excellence 
and  usefulness,  we  must  do  something  more  than  study 
speeches.  We  must  learn  to  build  them.  Professor  Huey 
(Psychology  and  Pedagogy  of  Reading,  p.  353)  emphasizes 
the  fact  that  analysis  has  been  the  bane  of  our  English 
teaching  and  that  synthesis  is  the  natural  usage  of  the 
mother  tongue.  With  this  idea,  we  heartily  agree.  To 
make  our  study  of  public  speaking  effective,  we  must  find 
the  causes  of  speech,  and,  by  setting  these  to  work,  must 
build  speaking  ability. 

There  are  distinct  reasons  why  it  is  much  more  necessary 
to-day  than  ever  before,  to  study  speaking  through  the 
laws  of  the  mind  which  cause  effective  speaking.  As  we 
stated  in  the  Introduction,  the  nature  of  public  utterance 
has  undergone  a  remarkable  change.  The  successful  speaker 
of  the  present  time  is  the  one  who  can  adapt  himself  quickly 
to  every  new  condition  in  our  busy  and  rapidly  changing 
world.  He  is  the  man  who  can  build  his  speech  out  of 
the  things  in  which  busy  people  are  engaged.  He  is  the 
man  who  can  show  to  various  classes  of  people  how  they 
can  gain  the  higher  things  for  which  they  seek,  through 
the  every-day  tasks  they  are  performing.  This  means  that, 
to  be  thoroughly  successful,  the  speaker  of  to-day  must 


26  THE  NATURE   OF   PUBLIC   SPEAKING 

know  and  observe  the  laws  of  Sensation,  that  he  may  receive 
the  quickest  and  strongest  sense-impressions  from  the  things 
around  him.  He  must  know  and  observe  the  laws  of  Im- 
agination, that  he  may  make  absent  things  seem  real  and 
vivid  to  the  audience.  He  must  be  able  to  practice  the  laws 
of  Conception,  that  he  may  form  his  ideas  quickly  and  ac- 
curately. He  must  practice  the  laws  of  Memory,  that  he 
may  retain  his  ideas  with  certainty  and  recall  them  readily. 
He  must  know  and  practice  the  laws  of  Action,  that  his 
whole  body  may  aid  him,  and  not  hinder  him,  in  making  his 
ideas  clear  and  effective.  He  must  conform  to  the  laws 
of  Emotion,  that  he  may  make  his  ideas  appealing  to  the 
audience.  He  must  be  familiar  with  the  laws  of  Voice, 
and  follow  them  constantly,  that  his  voice  may  be  pleasing, 
that  it  may  express  every  shade  of  his  thought  and  feeling, 
and  that  he  may  preserve  his  voice  from  wear.  Finally, 
the  speaker  who  hopes  for  success  to-day,  must  observe  the 
laws  of  Emphasis,  that  each  idea  may  stand  in  its  true 
value  before  the  audience. 

First  Practice  in  Speaking 

There  is  a  familiar  saying,  that  you  can't  learn  to  swim 
without  getting  into  the  water.  It  is  equally  true  that  we 
cannot  learn  to  speak  without  speaking.  Therefore,  let 
the  intending  speaker  begin  to  speak  at  once.  When  this 
chapter  has  been  thoroughly  read  and  re-read,  let  him  make 
an  outline  of  the  chapter.  Let  him  then  prepare  to  discuss, 
before  the  class,  any  one  division  of  his  outline  that  may 
be  called  for,  or  to  discuss  the  entire  chapter.  To  make 
this  preparation,  it  will  be  well  to  practice  making  each 


CAUSE   OF  FALSE   IDEAS   OF   SPEAKING          27 

of  these  short  talks  aloud  in  your  room,  until  the  various 
thoughts  come  quickly  and  readily.  Let  each  student,  as 
far  as  possible,  use  his  own  illustrations,  for  the  various 
points  in  the  chapter.  Let  each  one  take  illustrations  from 
things  with  which  he  is  familiar.  This  will  do  three  im- 
portant things  for  the  speaker,  i.  It  will  enable  him  to 
make  each  talk  more  truly  his  own ;  2.  It  will  enable  him 
to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  his  speech  more  easily  and  more 
heartily;  3.  It  will  enable  him  to  realize  decided  develop- 
ment in  his  first  effort. 


CHAPTER  II 
SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION 

WE  have  learned  that  full  success  in  public  speaking 
to-day  can  be  realized  only  by  those  who  discover  and  obey 
the  laws  of  mind  by  which  effective  speech  is  produced. 
The  laws  of  the  mind  are  the  ways  in  which  certain  func- 
tions of  the  mind  act.  The  intending  speaker  is  anxious 
first  to  know  what  these  functions  of  the  mind  are.  The 
two  which  are  fundamental  in  all  speech-work,  are  Sensa- 
tion and  Imagination.  We  shall  soon  see  that  there  is  not 
a  single  act  or  phase  of  speaking  that  does  not  have  its 
beginning  in  these  two  actions  of  the  mind.  It  is  highly 
important,  therefore,  that  we  learn  something  of  the  nature 
and  relationship  of  Sensation  and  Imagination. 

Definition  of  Sensation  and  of  Imagination 

As  we  shall  use  the  term  "sensation''  in  the  study  of 
speech  it  is  synonymous  with  "sense-  impression."  Sensation, 
in  its  psychological  meaning,  is  the  effect  produced  upon 
one  or  more  of  man's  senses,  by  active  contact  with  the 
things  arouna  him.  When  we  speak  of  the  speaker's  sen- 
sations, then,  let  it  be  clearly  understood  that  we  refer  to 
sense-impressions  which  actual  things  around  him  make 
upon  the  speaker. 

The  relation  between  Sensation  and  Imagination  is  far 
closer  and  more  intimate  than  we  are  apt,  at  first,  to  think 

28 


THE  PURPOSE  OF  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION  29 

it.  What  is  Imagination?  Let  the  members  of  the  class 
define  it  for  themselves.  Put  it  to  work  right  now.  Then 
find  out  what  it  was  that  "worked."  Imagine  yourselves 
at  a  railway  station  as  a  train  comes  in.  Probably  no  two 
in  the  class  will  get  the  same  result.  Some  will  say  that 
they  saw  the  train  approach;  others,  that  they  heard  the 
train  approach;  others,  that  they  saw  people  watch  the 
train;  others,  that  they  felt  the  people  jostle  against  them 
as  they  pressed  forward,  etc.  One  thing,  at  least,  will  be 
common  to  all.  It  seemed  to  you  as  if  you  were  there 
at  that  moment,  didn't  it  ?  Now  what  do  we  mean  by  that  ? 
We  mean  that  the  sound  or  the  sight  or  the  touch  or  the 
motion  seemed  real,  do  we  not?  What  is  there  within  us 
that  causes  the  train  or  the  station  or  the  people  to  seem 
real  and  present  when  they  are  not  actually  present  to  the 
senses?  Is  it  not  clear  that  it  is  the  senses  acting  in  ab- 
sentia? That  very  action  is  Imagination.  When  we  really 
imagine  a  thing,  one  or  more  of  our  senses  seems,  at  that 
moment,  to  be  receiving  actual  impressions  from  that  thing, 
as  it  would  receive  them  if  it  were  in  the  presence  of  that 
thing.  This  should  show  us  that  we  cannot  better  define 
this  action  of  our  natures,  than  to  say: 

Imagination  is  the  function  that  makes  things  seem 
real  at  the  present  moment  and  at  a  definite  place,  when 
those  things  are  not  actually  present  to  the  senses  which 
they  affect. 

The  Purpose  of  Sensation  and  Imagination 

Let  us  stop  for  a  moment  to  consider  why  this  double 
action  of  the  senses  is  given  us,  this  action  in  the  presence 
of  and  in  the  absence  of  things  which  affect  the  senses. 


30  SENSATION   AND    IMAGINATION 

We  need  hardly  be  reminded  what  Sensation  is  for.  What 
do  we  do  when  we  come  upon  any  new  thing  that  attracts 
our  attention?  We  immediately  put  some  of  our  senses 
to  work  upon  that  thing  to  receive  new  sensations  from  it. 
We  say  "Let  me  see  it,"  and  draw  near  enough  to  it  to 
receive  strong  sensations  of  sight  from  it.  We  take  it  into 
our  hands,  that  we  may  receive  sensations  of  touch  from 
it.  We  probably  lift  it,  to  get  from  it  sensations  of  motion. 
Sometimes,  we  even  go  so  far  as  to  smell  and  to  taste 
the  new  thing  we  are  examining,  that  we  may  have  from 
it  the  sensations  of  smell  and  taste.  Why  do  we  do  these 
things?  We  all  know  that  we  do  them  because  experience 
has  taught  us  that  the  only  way  we  can  get  first-hand  knowl- 
edge of  anything,  is  through  the  sensations  we  receive  from 
that  thing.  The  purpose  of  Sensation,  then,  is  to  give  us 
first-hand  knowledge. 

The  purpose  of  Imagination  may  not  be  so  apparent  at 
first  thought.  Why  should  the  senses  act  in  absentia? 
That  is,  why  should  they  be  affected  when  absent  from 
things  as  if  they  were  in  the  presence  of  those  same  things? 
What  will  it  profit  us  to  have  things  seem  real  and  present 
when  they  are  not?  Think  for  a  moment  how  many  things 
which  you  have  known,  are  absent  from  your  senses  at 
any  one  instant  in  your  life,  compared  to  the  very  few 
things  which  are  present  to  your  senses.  Then,  if  the  only 
things  which  could  seem  real  to  our  minds,  were  the  very 
few  things  actually  present  to  our  senses,  how  limited  our 
world  would  be!  All  our  experiences  would  be  a  blank, 
memory  would  be  an  unknown  thing,  and  mental  growth 
would  be  impossible.  It  is  very  apparent  that: 

The  Purpose  of  Imagination,  is  to  give  us  Active  Men 


WHY   STUDY    SENSATION   AND    IMAGINATION       3! 

tal  Use  of  the  many  Things  which  are  necessarily  Absent 
From  the  Senses,  and  to  Renew  and  Refresh  the  First- 
hand Knowledge  we  have  had. 


Why  Study  Sensation  and  Imaginiation  to  Prepare  for 

Speaking 

There  are  five  vital  reasons  why  the  education  of  the 
speaker  should  begin  in  the  study  of  Sensation,  i.  The 
speaket  of  to-day  must  have  as  much  first-hand  knowledge 
as  possible,  concerning  everything  he  says  in  public.  As 
we  said  in  the  first  chapter,  the  successful  speech  is  built 
out  of  the  constantly-changing  conditions  and  affairs  of 
every-day  life.  Since  the  speaker  must  have  first-hand 
knowledge  of  all  the  important  things  around  him,  and  since 
such  knowledge  can  be  had  only  through  the  sensations 
he  receives,  he  must  be  taught  to  get  the  best  sense-impres- 
sions possible.  2.  Another  basic  thing  required  of  the 
present-day  speaker,  is  that  he  reason  quickly  and  accurately. 
Now  it  is  a  law  of  the  mind,  that  we  cannot  reason  well 
until  we  have  perceived  well.  To  perceive  is  to  see  through 
things.  To  reason,  is  to  compare  things  perceived.  How, 
then,  can  we  compare  things  when  we  have  not  come  to 
know  them — to  see  through  them?  Another  principle  of 
the  mind  is  this:  before  we  can  really  perceive  a  thing, 
we  must  receive  sense-impressions  from  that  thing.  So 
reasoning  also  demands  the  study  of  Sensation.  3.  The 
law  of  association  and  habit  makes  it  necessary  that  the 
speaker  study  Sensation  in  immediate  connection  with  his 
speaking.  According  to  this  law  we  associate  things  as 


32  SENSATION   AND    IMAGINATION 

we  have  been  in  the  habit  of  associating  them.  This  means 
that  no  matter  how  well  we  may  have  learned  to  get  knowl- 
edge and  to  reason,  if  we  have  not  done  these  things  for 
speaking,  and  if  we  have  not  immediately  put  them  to  use 
in  speaking,  they  will  prove  of  little  or  no  help  in  making 
our  speaking  effective.  This  law  explains  why  so  many 
good  thinkers  are  such  poor  speakers.  4.  The  speaker  must 
constantly  bring  before  his  audience  distinct  situations  and 
he  must  strongly  react  to  those  situations.  That  is,  he  must 
take  active  attitudes  toward  the  situations  he  depicts.  Pro- 
fessor Thorndike,  of  Columbia  University  (Human  Nature 
Club,  p.  45)  says:  "Human  life  consists  of  a  multitude  of 
reactions  to  situations.  .  .  .  Our  senses  make  an  enormous 
difference  in  the  way  we  react,  for  if  we  don't  see  or  hear 
or  feel  or  taste  or  smell  a  thing,  we  won't  react  to  it  at 
all."  This  is  more  true  of  the  life  of  the  speaker  than  of 
anyone  else.  //  the  speaker  would  hold  and  lead  the  minds 
of  his  audience,  he  must  strongly  react  to  all  situations. 
This  he  can  do  only  through  full  knowledge  and  constant 
use  of  Sensation.  5.  Unless  the  speaker  is  taught  to  get 
quick  and  accurate  sensations  from  actual  contact  with 
things,  his  senses  will  fail  to  act  when  he  is  absent  from 
those  things.  This  means  that  his  Imagination  will  fail  him, 
and,  as  we  shall  soon  see,  when  the  Imagination  fails,  full 
effectiveness  in  speaking  is  impossible. 

The  reasons  why  the  speaker  should  study  Imagination 
are  so  apparent  and  so  strong  that  it  seems  almost  unneces- 
sary to  state  them.  The  purpose  of  Imagination,  as  stated 
above,  should  make  those  reasons  clear.  We  found  that 
the  Imagination  is  given  us  that  we  may  make  active  mental 
use  of  the  many  things  which  are  necessarily  absent  from 


WHY   STUDY   SENSATION   AND   IMAGINATION      33 

the  senses,  and  to  renew  and  refresh  the  first-hand  knowl- 
edge we  have  had.  What  could  possibly  be  more  important 
to  the  speaker,  than  the  faculty  of  the  mind  that  accom- 
plishes these  two  things  ?  The  speaker  can  bring  practically 
nothing  about  which  he  speaks,  before  the  audience,  in  its 
material  form;  therefore,  everything  about  which  he  must 
think  and  speak,  is  absent  from  his  senses  at  the  very  time 
when  he  should  have  the  most  active  mental  use  of  those 
things.  I.  The  first  reason,  then,  for  studying  Imagination, 
is  that  it  is  the  only  means  the  speaker  has  by  which  to 
establish  an  active  relation  between  himself  and  his  subject. 
When  the  author  of  this  book  was  a  student  under  the 
noted  teacher  and  reader,  Leland  Powers,  this  question  was 
asked  Mr.  Powers :  "What  part  does  the  Imagination  play 
between  speaker  and  audience  ?"  Without  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation, the  reply  came:  "The  main  part."  In  that  reply, 
there  was  a  great  truth.  There  is  a  mental  law  that  makes 
it  impossible  for  the  mind  of  the  speaker  to  fascinate  and 
hold  the  mind  of  the  listener,  upon  the  message  presented, 
unless  the  speaker's  mind  is  fascinated  by  the  things  about 
which  he  speaks.  Naturally  the  speaker  is  fascinated  most 
by  those  things  which  seem  so  real  and  so  present  to  him, 
that  he  is  receiving  fresh  sense-impressions  from  them.  A 
clear  and  active  Imagination  is  the  only  thing  that  can 
give  the  speaker  these  impressions  from  things  absent  from 
his  senses,  the  only  thing  that  can  renew  and  refresh  his 
knowledge  of  those  things.  This  explains  why  so  much  is 
being  said  in  all  the  books  on  writing  and  speaking,  to-day, 
about  the  great  value  of  concreteness.  Unless  the  speaker 
is  talking  about  actual  things,  he  can  be  receiving  no  im- 
aginative sensations,  which  means  that  nothing  about  which 


34  SENSATION   AND   IMAGINATION 

he  speaks  is  real  enough  to  him  or  near  enough  to  him  to 
impress  him  and  hold  his  mind  and  the  mind  of  the  audience. 

2.  This  makes  it  clear  that  the  second  basic  reason  why 
a  speaker  should  study  Imagination,  is  that  it  is  the  chief 
means  the  speaker  has  for  establishing  an  active  relation 
between  himself  and  his  audience. 

3.  The  third  reason  why  the  beginning  speaker  should 
devote  himself  to  the  study  of  the  Imagination,  is  a  four- 
fold one.     A.  It  has  been  fully  demonstrated  that  the  Im- 
agination is  capable  of  a  very  high  degree  of  education 
and  development.     B.  It  has  also  been  proved  that  if  the 
Imagination  be  not  educated   and  put  to  correct   use,   it 
seriously  deteriorates.    C.  The  Imagination  is  being  dwarfed 
instead  of  being  developed,  in  many  of  the  other  studies 
which  students  now  pursue.     D.  Even  if  the  Imagination 
is  being  developed  in  some  of  his  other  studies,  the  student 
of  speaking  will  find  (according  to  the  law  of  association 
and  habit,   stated   above)    that  unless  the   Imagination  is 
trained    in   immediate   connection   with   his    speaking,   the 
training  it  has  received  will  do  little  toward  making  his 
speaking  more  effective. 

The  Value  of  Imagination  in  Practical  Life 

In  studying  and  developing  the  Imagination,  the  speaker 
will  not  only  be  laying  the  foundation  for  success  in  speak- 
ing; he  will  also  be  gaining  one  of  the  greatest  assets  for 
practical  life.  To  be  sure,  there  are  some  persons  who  seem 
to  regard  the  Imagination  almost  as  a  fault  of  the  mind 
instead  of  a  strong  faculty  worthy  of  education  and  develop- 
ment. There  is  evidence  that  some  educators  regard  the 


THE  VALUE  OF  IMAGINATION  IN  PRACTICAL  LIFE  35 

Imagination  as  of  little  value  in  education !  How  else  could 
we  explain  the  fact  that  those  subjects  which  train  the 
imagination  have  been  placed  in  the  background,  in  some 
of  our  institutions,  while  fact-getting  subjects  have  been 
given  first  and  main  attention?  It  is  highly  gratifying  to 
the  student  of  speech,  however,  to  find  that  while  some 
are  depreciating  the  value  of  the  Imagination,  at  the  same 
time  the  leading  thinkers  of  the  world  are  declaring  that 
the  training  of  the  Imagination  is  the  best  part  of  an 
education.  If,  as  we  have  discovered,  a  strong  imagination 
is  necessary  for  effective  speaking,  and  if  it  were  true  that 
to  develop  one's  imagination  were  to  weaken  one's  educa- 
tion, then  training  in  speech  would  be  an  uneducative  thing. 
But  when  such  men  as  the  late  Dr.  William  James,  of 
Harvard  University,  and  President  George  E.  Vincent, 
formerly  of  the  University  of  Minnesota,  two  men  who 
understand  the  human  mind,  its  capabilities  and  its  needs, 
as  few  other  men  do — when  such  men  as  these  declare  that 
this  faculty  is  the  very  basis  of  all  that  is  best  in  education, 
and  when  this  opinion  is  strongly  endorsed  by  many  more 
of  our  leading  thinkers,  the  student  of  speech  feels  doubly 
encouraged.  He  feels  that,  in  training  his  imagination,  he 
is  not  only  preparing  himself  for  the  great  and  useful  art 
of  speaking,  but  that  he  is  also  giving  himself  the  best 
mental  basis  for  a  life  of  usefulness. 

For  further  views  on  the  importance  of  the  imagination,  see 
Ribot  (Psychology  of  Emotion},  Royce  (Outlines  of  Psy- 
chology, pp.  157-171),  Pyle  (Outlines  of  Educational  Psychol- 
°gy>  PP-  224-23o),  Thorndike  (Human  Nature  Club,  pp.  100- 
108). 

It  may  add  to  our  understanding  of  this  great  function 


36  SENSATION   AND    IMAGINATION 

of  the  mind,  to  consider  why  it  is  regarded  so  highly.  We 
have  found  that  the  Imagination  is  given  us  that  we  may 
make  active  mental  use  of  the  many  things  which  are  neces- 
sarily absent  from  our  senses.  Do  you  realize  what  that 
means  in  every- day  life?  Do  you  not  see  that  we  employ 
the  Imagination  every  time  we  think  a  real  thought  ?  Every 
time  we  think,  we  make  s<3me  comparison  of  something 
which  now  affects  one  or  more  of  our  senses,  with  some- 
thing that  is  absent;  or  we  compare  two  things  both  of 
which  are  absent.  In  either  case,  the  Imagination  is  the 
only  means  we  have  of  bringing  the  absent  object  up  for 
comparison,  so  how  could  we  think  without  it?  And  if 
impossible  to  think,  how  could  we  remember?  If  new 
knowledge,  old  knowledge,  all  knowledge,  comes  to  us  at 
any  moment  of  our  lives  through  some  active  use  of  the 
Imagination,  need  we  further  emphasize  the  importance  of 
training  this  faculty? 

Yet  one  thing  more  should  be  said.  Not  only  do  we 
depend  upon  the  Imagination  for  all  that  we  know,  but  also 
for  all  that  we  feel.  Professor  Ross,  of  the  University  of 
Nebraska  (Social  Control,  p.  258)  gives  his  testimony  to 
the  fact  that  "the  taproot  of  selfishness  is  weakness  of 
imagination."  No  one  can  hope  for  large  success  in  speak- 
ing until  he  overcomes  his  selfishness.  The  speaker  must 
substitute  sympathy  for  selfishness.  Professor  Hudson 
(Church  and  Stage,  p.  68)  says:  "We  can  sympathize  only 
with  what  we  can  picture  to  ourselves ;  the  inability  to  feel 
for  another,  simply  means  inability  to  grasp,  by  means  of 
the  imagination,  the  experiences  through  which  that  other 
is  passing."  When  we  investigate  our  emotions,  we  find 
that  ive  feel  because  we  have  experienced  certain  things. 


IMAGINATION   AND   FANCY   CONTRASTED         37 

We  meet  a  friend  we  have  not  seen  for  months;  a  thrill 
of  joy  runs  through  us.  Why?  Simply  because  the  Im- 
agination causes  us  to  re-live  former  relationships  with  that 
person.  We  find  this  same  law  in  everything  that  gives 
us  pleasure  or  sorrow;  it  does  so  because  it  causes  the 
Imagination  to  bring  to  life  a  former  feeling.  We  cannot 
feel,  we  cannot  sympathize,  we  cannot  enjoy  without  the 
Imagination. 

Imagination  and  Fancy  Contrasted 

When  Imagination  is  found  to  be  of  so  great  value 
not  only  in  speaking  but  in  all  of  life,  the  question  naturally 
arises  why  some  persons,  even  some  educators,  regard  it 
lightly  and  even  condemn  it.  The  reason  is,  that  such 
persons  have  not  learned  to  discriminate  between  Imagina- 
tion and  Fancy.  The  difference  between  the  two  is  about 
the  same  as  the  difference  between  real  thinking  and  mus- 
ing. When  one  really  thinks,  his  mind  is  held  firmly  on 
something  until  he  has  a  clear  notion  of  that  thing;  when 
one  muses,  his  mind  is  allowed  to  drift  from  one  object 
to  another  without  getting  any  definite  knowledge  from 
any  one  of  them.  So  when  one  really  imagines,  he  holds 
an  object  before  the  mind  until  he  feels  a  positive,  active 
relationship  with  the  thing  imagined.  Fancy,  on  the  other 
hand,  may  bring  before  the  mind  only  disconnected  or 
trivial  parts  or  characteristics  of  the  thing  fancied,  without 
any  regard  for  the  vital  relationship  of  these  parts  to  the 
life  or  being  of  the  thing  to  which  they  belong.  Musing 
may  be  called  dissipated  thinking.  Fancy  may  be  called 
dissipated  Imagination. 


38  SENSATION    AND    IMAGINATION 

Two  men  of  note  in  the  world  of  letters,  who  have 
given  much  attention  to  the  real  distinction  between  Fancy 
and  Imagination,  are  Wordsworth  and  Ruskin.  In  one  of 
his  famous  prefaces  Wordsworth  says :  *  "When  the 
Imagination  frames  a  comparison,  the  resemblance  depends 
upon  the  inherent  and  internal  properties.  .  .  .  Fancy  de- 
pends upon  the  rapidity  and  profusion  with  which  she  scat- 
ters her  images."  Ruskin,  in  criticising  Wordsworth's  four 
stanzas  in  To  a  Daisy,  says  :*  "There  is  more  Imagination 
in  the  last  stanza,  because  it  is  more  simple,  more  genuine, 
truer  to  human  experience,  and  centers  the  mind's  attention, 
as  the  Imagination  always  does,  at  the  heart  of  things" 

From  all  this  it  appears  that  Fancy  is  Imagination  minus 
concentration  and  penetration  of  mind.  Does  this  not  make 
it  clear  how  Imagination  has  received  a  bad  name  that  it 
does  not  deserve?  Everyone  knows  how  important  it  is 
to  keep  the  mind  strongly  concentrated  on  any  thing  thought 
about,  if  any  mental  development  is  to  be  realized.  Then, 
since  many  persons  erroneously  regard  Imagination  and 
Fancy  as  one  and  the  same  thing,  and  since  they  have 
observed  the  lack  of  concentration  that  is  always  present 
in  the  mind  that  is  "fancying,"  we  cannot  wonder  that 
these  persons  have  made  the  serious  mistake  of  condemning 
the  Imagination. 

If  the  mind  has  formed  the  habit  of  fancying  instead 
of  imagining,  as  is  very  often  the  case  in  students'  minds, 
the  habit  can  be  cured  and  Fancy  turned  into  Imagination 
only  by  vigorous  practice  in  concentration.  This  practice 
should  be  given  through  the  performance  of  many  experi- 
ments with  the  different  imaginative  senses. 

*  Italics  ours.. 


THE    SENSES  39 

The  Senses 

This  brings  us  to  a  consideration  of  the  senses  them- 
selves. It  is  clear^that  we  shall  begin  that  work  more 
intelligently  if  we  first  inquire  what  the  senses  are,  and 
how  many  senses  there  are  which  we  should  undertake  to 
educate  for  public  speaking. 

What  is  a  sense?  A  sense  is  the  peculiar  capability  of 
a  nerve,  or  set  of  nerves,  to  receive  certain  physical  impres- 
sions from  the  outside  world  and  transmit  these  impressions 
to  the  mind.  When  we  are  asked  how  many  senses  we 
have,  most  of  us  are  accustomed  to  reply  that  we  have  five. 
Some  of  our  best  modern  thinkers,  however,  have  proved 
that  we  have  more  than  five  senses,  more  than  five  channels 
through  which  we  get  impressions  of  the  world  in  which 
we  live.  To  the  familiar  list  of  five,  namely,  the  senses  of 
touch,  sound,  sight,  smell  and  taste,  they  add  the  sense 
of  motion.  M.  Ribot,  an  able  French  writer,  (Maladies 
de  la  Memoir,  p.  85)  says:*  "We  are  conscious  of  our- 
selves solely  because  we  feel  our  ever-present,  ever-acting 
vitality"  M.  A.  Binet,  another  French  authority  of  note, 
(Psychologic  du  Raisonnement,  p.  25)  proves  by  his  in- 
vestigations that  "all  our  perceptions,  and  in  particular  the 
important  ones,  contain  as  integral  elements  the  movements 
of  our  eyes  and  limbs."  Dr.  Strieker,  of  Vienna,  (Studien 
ilber  die  Sprachvorstellungen)  adds  his  strong  testimony 
to  the  reality  of  the  sense  of  motion.  Professor  Thorndike 
(Human  Nature  Club,  p.  104)  clearly  shows  that  he  recog- 
nizes this  sense.  Professor  Ladd  (Introduction  to  Philos- 
ophy, p.  343)  declares  that  "nothing  which  seems  incapable 

*  Italics  ours  in  excerpts  in  this  paragraph. 


4O  SENSATION    AND    IMAGINATION 

of  motion  is  beautiful  to  the  human  mind."  These  men 
and  others  prove  in  a  very  convincing  way  not  only  that 
we  have  a  sense  of  motion,  but  also  that  it  is  one  of  the 
most  important  senses  we  have. 

The  present  writer,  after  long-continued  investigation, 
declares  unhesitatingly  that  many  of  the  strongest  and  most 
useful  sense-impressions  we  ever  get  are  received  through 
the  sense  of  motion.  In  fact,  in  many  instances  all  the 
other  senses  seem  dependent  upon  this  sense.  That  is,  full 
impressions  through  the  other  senses  often  seem  impossible 
until  aided  by  strong  action  of  the  sense  of  motion.  The 
case  of  Helen  Keller  shows,  in  a  wonderful  way,  what  the 
sense  of  motion  can  do  for  the  other  senses.  Miss  Keller, 
in  her  very  early  infancy,  became  blind,  deaf  and  dumb. 
People  thought  this  had  robbed  her  of  all  ability  to  learn. 
Of  course,  she  still  had  the  senses  of  smell  and  taste;  but 
these  could  give  her  little  more  than  the  knowledge  of 
things  with  which  to  feed  herself  and  keep  up  a  mere 
physical  existence.  Touch  she  still  had  and  it  could  tell 
her  much  of  the  presence  and  physical  nature  of  things 
around  her;  but  how  was  she  to  communicate  with  other 
minds?  Her  teacher  knew  the  great  power  of  the  sense 
of  motion.  She  taught  her  pupil  the  motions  of  the  muscles 
in  the  throat  by  holding  the  child's  fingers  on  her  (Miss 
Sullivan's)  throat  while  she  spoke  certain  words.  Miss 
Keller  caught  the  motion,  and,  associating  it  with  certain 
things,  came  to  know  those  things.  Through  this  sense  her 
teacher  brought  her  into  splendid  contact  with  our  complex 
society,  so  that  she  graduated  from  Radcliffe  College,  and, 
most  wonderful  of  all,  so  that  she  can  speak  her  ideas  in 
public,  as  many  of  us  have  heard  her  do. 


THE    SENSES  4* 

Another  noteworthy  thing  about  the  sense  of  motion, 
and  the  thing  of  greatest  value  to  the  student  of  speech, 
is  that  it  is  often  the  only  sense  that  will  do  effective 
imaginative  work.  Within  the  last  hour,  I  have  had  the 
following  experience,  the  like  of  which  I  have  often  had 
before.  As  I  sit  here  I  look  at  a  yacht  a  short  distance 
from  me  on  the  bay.  It  is  painted  a  beautiful,  shiny  white, 
with  the  stern,  which  is  turned  toward  me,  a  pleasing,  deep 
red  in  sharp  contrast  to  the  white  surface.  It  is  rocking 
on  the  waves  and  turning  its  well-shaped  form  this  way 
and  that  in  graceful  fashion.  All  this  should  be  exceedingly 
easy  to  imagine.  I  close  my  eyes,  and  for  a  few  moments 
it  is  all  very  distinct.  Then  the  colors  begin  to  fade,  to 
blur  one  into  the  other,  then,  finally,  to  disappear.  Even 
the  outline  is  no  longer  perfectly  distinct;  but  the  sensation 
of  the  motion  of  the  boat  is,  and  remains,  as  strong  and 
as  clear  as  at  first.  I  find  another  notable  thing.  If  I  hold 
my  mind  quietly  attentive  and  give  myself  to  the  sense 
of  motion,  with  the  sense  of  location  keenly  attentive, 
presently  a  part  of  the  outline,  then  the  white  surface,  then 
the  red  surface,  and,  at  last,  the  whole  picture  is  restored. 
Similar  experiments  have  been  made  by  many  students  with 
like  results. 

Try  to  imagine  a  church-bell  ringing  this  moment.  The 
result  is  probably  intense  and  disappointing  silence,  unless 
your  sense  of  motion  is  already  coming  to  your  aid.  But 
try  again.  This  time,  imagine  the  movement  of  the  bell 
as  it  swings  far  over  to  one  side  and  then  to  the  other, 
and  imagine  the  movement  of  the  clapper  as  it  drops  with 
a  firm  bang  against  one  side  and  then  the  other.  Keep 
your  attention  firmly  riveted  on  these  motions  and  let  your 


42  SENSATION   AND   IMAGINATION 

sense  of  motion  have  full  influence  over  you,  and,  unless 
you  are  a  rare  exception,  the  sound  of  the  bell  will  begin 
to  come.  At  any  rate: 

The  important  thing  is,  that  you  did  receive  the  sen- 
sation of  motion,  and  that  it  Renewed  and  Refreshed 
your  First-hand  Knowledge  of  the  Bell  and  brought  you 
into  immediate  relationship  with  it,  Though  Absent,  and 
that  it  did  this  when  your  other  senses  could  not  do  it. 

The  sense  of  motion  easily  proves  itself  one  of  the  great- 
est aids  the  speaker  can  find. 

In  the  example  of  the  yacht,  given  above,  we  referred 
to  another  sense  of  great  value  to.  the  speaker,  which  is 
also  one  omitted  from  the  list  of  five  senses  with  which 
we  are  familiar.  That  is  the  sense  of  location,  sometimes 
called  the  sense  of  "locality."  This  sense  has  come  to  be 
generally  recognized,  though  it  is  not  so  strong  nor  so 
independent  in  man  as  in  some  of  the  animals.  In  some 
animals,  for  example  the  carrier  pigeon,  it  is  stronger  than 
any  other  sense;  but  in  man  it  usually  acts  through  and 
in  connection  with  some  other  sense.  For  instance,  we 
locate  a  thing  which  we  see  or  hear  or  taste  or  touch.  This 
fact  that  it  depends  more  or  less  upon  the  other  senses, 
however,  makes  the  sense  of  location  no  less  important  to 
the  speaker.  The  speaker  will  soon  find  that  unless  he 
exercises  his  sense  of  location  to  give  him  definite  sense — 
impressions  of  just  where  anything  observed  is  (just  how 
far  from  him)  and  just  where  its  various  sides  are  (giving 
him  its  size  and  shape)  his  first-hand  knowledge  of  that 
thing  will  be  very  vague  and  indistinct.  There  is  a  law 
of  the  mind  that  makes  it  impossible  for  us  to  get  a  clear 
conception  of  anything  to  which  we  may  turn  the  mind, 


HOW   PERSONS    DIFFER  43 

unless  the  thing  contemplated  assume  a  definite  location  in 
space.  For  instance,  we  cannot  speak  of  as  simple  a  thing 
as  a  triangle  and  have  anything  but  the  vaguest  conception 
of  it  until  we  locate  a  definite  triangle  just  so  far  from  us. 
Try  it  and  be  convinced. 

This  should  make  clear  the  great  value  of  the  sense  of 
location  in  speaking.  The  speaker  who  hopes  to  have  his 
work  effective  at  all  times,  must  be  ready  to  imagine,  in 
the  clearest  possible  form,  everything  about  which  he  speaks. 
Since  he  can  do  this  only  when  his  imaginative  sense  of 
location  is  acting  quickly  and  well,  and  since  the  imaginative 
sense  will  not  act  well  unless  the  direct  sense  has  been  well 
trained,  it  is  evident  that: 

One  of  the  best  things  a  speaker  can  do,  in  his  prepara- 
tion for  speaking,  is  to  exercise  his  sense  of  location 
vigorously  and  accurately  on  everything  about  which  he 
thinks  and  everything  about  which  he  speaks. 

How  Persons  Differ  in  Sensation  and  Imagination 

Individuals  differ  very  widely  in  their  ability  to  receive 
sensations,  both  direct  and  imaginative.  Careful  examina- 
tion of  large  numbers  of  cases  has  proved  this  beyond  doubt. 
Some  get  most  of  their  sense-impressions  through  the  sense 
of  sight;  others,  through  the  sense  of  sound;  others,  through 
the  sense  of  motion,  and  so  on.  This  fact  proves  to  be 
very  important  when  we  attempt  to  educate  the  imagination. 
In  the  first  place,  it  has  led  many  persons  to  believe  that 
they  have  no  imagination.  Such  persons  have  tested  their 
imagination  through  some  sense  in  which  it  was  not  active, 
and,  finding  no  satisfactory  response,  have  concluded  that 


44  SENSATION    AND    IMAGINATION 

they  lack  imagination.  For  example,  many  students  have 
told  the  present  writer  that  they  could  not  see  anything 
not  present  to  the  sense  of  sight.  Practical  tests  have 
frequently  proved  that  they  could  not.  James  Mill,  who 
spent  much  time  in  studying  the  real  uses  of  the  various 
senses,  tells  us  (Analysis,  I,  97)  that  we  derive  nothing 
whatever  from  the  eye  acting  alone  but  the  sensations  of 
color.  Many  students  seem  unable  to  close  the  eyes  and 
then  bring  before  the  mind  anything  but  blank  darkness. 
Very  few  cases  have  been  found,  however,  where  a  few 
days  of  careful  work  have  not  begun  to  awaken  the  ability 
to  "visualize."  This  test  proved  that  most  of  the  students 
examined  have  simply  not  been  educating  or  correctly  using 
this  imaginative  sense  of  sight,  and,  therefore,  think  they 
do  not  have  it. 

Whenever  a  student  is  found  who  does  not  seem  able, 
through  a  reasonable  amount  of  training,  to  bring  before 
the  mind  imaginative  sights  of  things,  we  have  always  tried 
to  rouse  the  imagination  of  that  student  through  some  other 
sense  than  the  sense  of  sight.  We  have  never  found  a 
case  where  this  could  not  be  done.  Some  students  who 
think  they  have  no  imagination  because  they  cannot  imagine 
either  colors  or  sounds,  can  distinctly  imagine  the  touch  of 
absent  objects.  But  by  far  the  largest  number  of  those 
who  have  lost  faith  in  their  own  imagination  because  they 
have  no  bright  "images"  before  the  mind,  can  quite  distinctly 
imagine  the  location  or  the  motion  of  absent  objects.  Fur- 
thermore, it  has  practically  always  been  found  possible 
through  these  two,  the  senses  of  location  and  motion,  to 
start  the  action  of  the  other  senses  and,  thereby,  to  bring 
them  to  real  imaginative  response. 


THE    VALUE    OF    COMBINING   THE    SENSES       45 

It  should  be  kept  constantly  in  mind  that  the  failure  of 
a  sense  to  act  imaginatively,  is  direct  proof  that  that  sense 
has  not  been  receiving  as  strong  impressions  as  it  should 
receive  when  in  direct  contact  with  things.  An  imaginative 
sensation  is  only  the  acting  of  one  of  the  senses  in  absentia, 
and  is  in  direct  proportion  to  the  impressions  which  that 
sense  receives  when  in  direct  contact  with  things.  There- 
fore, to  develop  the  imagination  in  any  one  of  the  senses, 
that  sense  should  first  be  put  to  work  on  actual  things. 

The  Value  of  Combining  the  Senses 

The  fact  that  individuals  differ  so  widely  as  to  their 
ability  to  use  the  imagination  in  a  practical  way,  and  the 
fact  that  in  so  many  persons  only  one  sense  is  found  to 
be  particularly  active,  raises  the  question  whether  it  is 
necessary  or  even  desirable  to  have  the  various  senses  de- 
veloped equally.  We  are  apt  to  reason  that  if  a  person 
can  get  in  touch  with  a  thing  that  is  absent  from  his  senses, 
it  matters  little  how  he  does  it.  If  he  can  see  an  object 
in  imagination,  why  should  he  worry  because  he  cannot 
hear  it?  Or  if  he  can  hear  it,  why  should  he  care  because 
he  cannot  imagine  the  touch  of  it?  That  sounds  well  at 
first  thought,  but  it  is  very  shallow  and  dangerous  philosophy 
for  the  speaker. 

In  the  first  place,  dependence  upon  one  sense  is  dangerous 
because  the  knowledge  we  receive  about  anything,  through 
the  testimony  of  only  one  sense,  is  not  very  sure  or  strong 
knowledge.  At  least  two  witnesses  are  used,  where  possible, 
to  establish  a  truth  in  the  courts;  and  our  minds  are  very 
much  like  the  courts.  When  two  or  more  senses  tell  us 


46  SENSATION   AND   IMAGINATION 

different  characteristics  of  a  thing,  we  then  begin  to  feel 
that  we  know  that  thing.  For  example,  who  would  feel 
that  he  had  any  real  knowledge  of  a  certain  kind  of  fruit 
if  he  had  only  seen  its  color?  No  one  would  claim  such 
knowledge  until  he  had  sensed  the  taste  and  smell  as  well 
as  the  color  and  touch  of  that  fruit.  Every  particle  of 
knowledge  which  the  speaker  hopes  to  use  in  public  speaking, 
should  be  as  definite  and  as  full  as  possible.  If  his  knowl- 
edge is  not  definite  and  full,  concerning  anything  about 
which  he  speaks,  the  speaker  at  once  loses  confidence  in 
what  he  has  to  say  about  that  thing.  The  result  is  that 
his  message  is  neither  clear,  nor  strong,  nor  intensely  alive, 
all  of  which  it  must  be  if  it  is  to  have  the  desired  effect  on 
the  hearers. 

The  speaker  finds  even  greater  profit  from  using  all  his 
senses  in  their  imaginative  work,  than  in  their  direct  work. 
In  the  first  place,  if  the  senses  must  work  together  to  give 
us  real  knowledge  of  things  which  are  actually  present  to 
the  senses,  the  imaginative  senses  must  surely  work  together 
in  the  same  way  to  revive  and  refresh  our  knowledge  of 
things  which  are  absent  from  our  senses.  But  more  than 
this: 

The  public  speaker  who  hopes  to  do  the  most  effective 
work,  must  be  ready  to  describe  anything  that  will  add 
to  the  effectiveness  of  his  speech. 

The  situation  may  call  for  a  description  of  something 
seen  or  something  heard  or  the  touch  of  something  or  the 
motion  of  something — who  can  tell?  Lotze  declares  that 
artistic  effect  "is  notably  bound  to  simultaneousness  and 
multiplicity  of  expression."  In  other  words,  artistic  effect, 
he  has  found,  depends  on  the  use  of  all  the  senses.  Marshall 


SECOND    PRACTICE    IN    SPEAKING  47 

(Pain,  Pleasure  and  Aesthetics,  p.  335)  says:  "The  artist 
endeavors  to  use,  at  the  same  time,  arts  of  ear  and  of  sight, 
and  those  which  depict  more  directly  the  activities  of  men." 
This  is  far  more  true  of  the  successful  speech-artist  than 
of  any  other,  for  he  has  but  a  moment  in  which  to  make 
each  truth  leave  its  impression  on  the  listener.  The  senses 
should  all  be  ready  to  give  the  service  needed. 

It  should  be  said  in  passing,  that  there  is  one  and  only  one 
safe  substitute  for  a  thorough  training  of  all  the  senses. 
If,  for  any  reason,  the  speaker  has  found  it  impossible 
to  employ  all  his  imaginative  senses  when  he  stands  before 
an  audience,  he  should,  at  least,  employ  those  senses  which 
are  most  likely  to  be  active  in  a  majority  of  his  hearers. 
Only  so  can  he  hope  to  make  his  message  most  appealing 
to  the  majority.  Numerous  experiments  with  audiences  of 
various  kinds,  have  disclosed  the  fact  that  the  two  senses 
which  are  most  likely  to  be  active  in  an  audience,  even  when 
the  other  senses  are  not  active,  are  the  senses  of  motion 
and  of  location.  For  this  reason,  the  public  speaker  and 
reader  should  at  least  have  these  two  senses  active,  and  as 
many  others  as  possible. 

Second  Practice  in  Speaking 

As  at  the  close  of  the  first  chapter,  so  again  here  let  the 
student  put  into  practical  speaking  the  knowledge  he  has 
gained  in  the  study  of  this  chapter.  When  the  chapter 
has  been  thoroughly  read  and  re-read,  then  make  a  careful 
outline  of  its  divisions  and  subdivisions.  With  this  outline 
before  you,  stand  to  your  feet,  imagine  the  class  to  be 
before  you,  and  discuss  aloud  the  first  division.  If  it  does 


48  SENSATION   AND   IMAGINATION 

not  come  to  you  readily  enough  at  first,  to  make  an  effective 
talk  on  it,  refresh  your  knowledge  by  glancing  over  that 
part  of  the  discussion  in  the  book,  to  see  where  your  mind 
was  uncertain.  Then  discuss  this  division  aloud  again. 
Follow  this  same  plan  with  every  division  until  you  can 
discuss  any  one  of  them  or  the  entire  chapter,  as  you  may 
be  asked  to  do.  Apply  the  principles  set  forth  in  the  chapter, 
by  bringing  before  the  class  as  many  concrete  examples  as 
you  can  from  your  own  experience,  to  illustrate  each  point, 
and  put  your  imagination  to  work. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  SENSATION  AND 
IMAGINATION 

WE  have  found  that  Sensation  is  the  only  means  we 
have  to  bring  us  into  such  close  contact  with  the  things 
of  life,  that  we  shall  have  live,  fresh,  interesting  things  to 
say;  and  that  the  Imagination  is  the  only  means  we  have 
for  making  what  we  have  to  say  as  fresh  and  interesting 
when  we  come  to  say  it  as  it  was  when  we  first  found  it. 
We  have  learned  that  Sensation  and  Imagination  can  be 
greatly  developed,  and  that  their  development  can  be  realized 
only  through  the  education  of  the  senses  themselves.  The 
first  task  before  us,  therefore,  is  to  discover  wherein  the 
senses  need  development,  and  then  to  develop  them. 

To  speak  in  the  language  of  the  photographer,  we  must 
become  thoroughly  "sensitized."  It  is  vitally  important  to 
keep  the  negative  for  the  camera,  or  the  film  for  the  kodak 
thoroughly  "sensitized"  so  that  the  slightest  ray  of  light 
will  make  the  proper  impression  upon  it.  Our  subject 
may  be  a  splendid  view,  the  focus  may  be  perfect,  and  the 
light  good,  yet  instead  of  a  picture  we  will  get  only  the 
faintest  blur,  if  the  film  grow  "inactive."  So  it  is  when 
the  mind  is  the  kodak,  and  the  senses  are  the  film.  Unless 
we  keep  the  senses  quick  and  strong  through  healthful  use, 
the  things  we  see,  hear,  touch,  etc.,  will  not  impress  us. 
At  least  the  impressions  we  get  will  be  too  dim  to  show 

49 


50    DEVELOPMENT  OF  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION 

to  others  as  records  and  treasures  of  the  places  where 
we  have  been. 


Outline  of  the  Method  of  Development 

In  the  education  of  the  senses,  as  in  the  development  of 
all  the  elements  of  speech-ability: 

We  shall  follow  the  modern  scientific  method ;  namely, 
the  Laboratory  Method.  The  student  is  required  to  make 
of  himself  a  mental  laboratory.  Into  this  laboratory, 
he  is  asked  to  bring  the  materials  out  of  which  effective 
speaking  must  grow.  With  these  materials,  the  intending 
speaker  is  asked  to  Perform  Original  Experiments,  first 
putting  together  the  simpler  elements  of  speaking,  and, 
later,  all  the  materials  entering  into  a  well-rounded  and 
Effective  Speech. 

The  tasks  assigned  are  not  experiments  in  the  sense  of 
being  untried.  Each  one  has  been  tested  in  practical  class- 
work  for  years,  and  its  worth  to  the  student  has  been 
thoroughly  proved.  Each  piece  of  work  outlined  is,  how- 
ever, a  real  and  original  experiment  for  each  individual 
student,  to  enable  him  to  discover  his  own  needs  and  to 
show  him  the  means  by  which  to  accomplish  those  needs. 

In  the  experiments  for  the  development  of  Sensation  and 
Imagination,  the  student  is  first  required  to  devote  his  entire 
attention  to  one  sense  at  a  time.  This  method  brings  to 
the  student  two  distinct  benefits,  i.  It  is  much  easier  for 
the  student  to  begin  his  work,  work  that  is  entirely  new 
to  him,  if  he  be  required  to  pay  attention  to  nothing  but 
the  impressions  received  from  one  sense.  2.  When  vigorous 
effort  is  devoted  to  one  sense,  through  a  number  of  experi- 


OUTLINE  OF  THE  METHOD  OF  DEVELOPMENT  51 

ments  performed  in  immediate  succession,  the  response  and 
the  development  of  that  sense  are  more  rapid,  and  the 
acquisition  more  lasting,  than  they  can  be  when  the  atten- 
tion is  divided  among  different  senses. 

Before  undertaking  these  experiments  for  the  develop- 
ment of  Sensation  and  Imagination,  the  intending  speaker 
should  understand  why  it  is  necessary  to  develop  the  senses 
and  the  imagination  together.  Professor  Royce  (Outlines 
of  Psychology,  p.  158)  says:  "The  training  of  the  imagina- 
tion cannot  normally  occur  apart  from  a  fitting  training 
of  the  senses."  He  makes  the  reason  for  this  clear  when 
he  says  (ibid.  p.  161):  "All  mental  imagery  results  from 
former  sensory  experience."  (See  also  Pyle,  Outlines  of 
Educational  Psych.,  p.  221,  and  Thorndike,  Human  Nature 
Club,  pp.  100-108.)  Naturally,  then,  the  more  recently  the 
senses  have  experienced  a  thing,  the  more  readily  can  the 
imagination  reproduce  that  thing.  These  facts  make  it  very 
evident  that  the  speaker  will  acquire  the  fullest  and  freest 
use  of  his  senses  and  his  imagination  by  training  each  in 
immediate  connection  with  the  other. 

Development  of  the  Sense  of  Motion 

There  are  two  distinct  reasons  why  it  is  best  for  the 
student  of  speaking  to  begin  the  development  of  Sensation 
and  Imagination  by  performing  his  first  experiments  with 
the  Sense  of  Motion,  i.  It  is  easier  to  begin  with  this 
sense  than  with  any  of  the  others.  This  is  so  from  the 
very  nature  of  the  sense  of  motion.  The  sense-impressions 
it  gives  are  stronger  and  more  easily  observed  than  those 
received  through  any  other  sense.  2.  To  begin  with  the 


52     DEVELOPMENT  OF  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION 

sense  of  motion,  makes  the  development  of  the  other  senses 
easier  and  more  effective.  Sensations  of  motion,  when 
fully  experienced,  tend  to  invigorate  the  entire  body.  Each 
of  the  other  senses  naturally  receives  its  share  of  this 
general  vigor  of  the  whole  body.  The  result  is,  that  all 
the  senses  become  more  active,  more  ready  to  work  and 
more  efficient. 

Not  only  is  it  best  to  begin  with  experiments  in  sensations 
of  motion ;  it  is  also  best  for  the  intending  speaker  to  begin 
with  sensations  which  he  receives  from  movements  of  his 
own  muscles.  There  are  three  reasons  why  this  is  so : 

1.  It  is  much  easier  to  imagine  the  muscles  again  doing 
a  thing  which  they  recently  did,  than  to  imagine  motions 
as  occurring  in  something  entirely  separate  from  the  body. 

2.  At  the  very  beginning  of  his  speech-work,  it  causes  the 
student  to  form  the  habit  of  being  in  immediate  contact 
with    anything   he    describes.      This    causes    every    object 
described  to  seem  much  more  real  to  the  speaker,   and, 
hence,  much  more  real  to  the  audience — a  consummation 
so  essential  to  effective  speaking.     3.  When  the  beginning 
speaker  starts  his   development  by  actually  handling  the 
things  he  describes,  he  realizes  at  once  that  his  whole  body 
can  play  a  great  part  in  his  speaking.     This  immediately 
starts  a  spontaneity  in  his  speaking  as  nothing  else  can  do. 
The  value  of  this  can  hardly  be  over  estimated. 

Experiments  to  Develop  the  Sense  of  Motion 

i.  For  the  first  experiment,  place  a  number  of  books 
on  a  chair.  Consider,  before  proceeding  with  the  experi- 
ment, that  you  must  now  pay  so  close  attention  to  every 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  SENSE  OF  MOTION      53 

movement  you  make,  that  you  shall  be  able  to  describe  all 
the  movements  you  have  made,  when  the  experiment  is 
finished.  Now  step  toward  the  chair,  on  which  you  have 
placed  the  books,  until  one  knee  is  brought  near  to  it.  Bend 
forward  and  place  the  hands  under  the  chair  ready  to  lift 
it.  As  you  do  so,  relax  every  muscle  in  your  body,  so  that 
it  shall  be  ready  to  receive  the  strongest  possible  impressions 
from  every  movement  you  make.  Slowly  lift  the  chair 
about  a  foot  from  the  floor.  Become  intensely  conscious 
of  every  movement,  every  strain,  and  every  pull  your  body 
experiences.  Step  slowly  forward  one  stride,  let  the  chair 
down  slowly  until  it  is  near  the  floor,  then  suddenly  drop 
it  and  straighten  up. 

2.  As  soon  as  this  experiment  with  the  actual  sensations 
of  motion,  has  been  completed,  at  once  perform  the  same 
experiment  with  your  imaginative  sense  of  motion,  to  find 
how  well  you  can  imagine  yourself  doing  the  whole  thing 
over  again.  Immediately  step  away  from  the  chair.  Imagine 
that  it  is  again  before  you.  Now  perform,  in  imagination, 
the  entire  experiment  from  the  time  you  stepped  toward 
the  chair  until  you  put  it  down  and  again  stood  erect.  In 
this  imaginative  experiment,  allow  yourself  actually  to  move 
only  enough  to  start  each  movement  which  you  hope  to 
imagine. 

You  have  doubtless  discovered,  by  the  time  you  have 
completed  the  imaginative  experiment,  that  you  did  not 
imagine  all  the  movements  which  you  made  while  perform- 
ing the  experiment  with  the  actual  senses.  At  least  some 
of  the  movements  gave  you  so  faint  an  imaginative  sensa- 
tion, that  you  were  not  at  all  satisfied  with  it.  To  develop 
these  sensations,  again  perform  the  experiment  of  approach- 


54     DEVELOPMENT  OF  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION 

ing,  lifting,  and  carrying  forward  the  actual  chair.  As 
you  do  so,  this  time  relax  your  muscles  even  more  than 
before  and  rivet  your  attention  upon  every  sensation 
of  motion  you  experience  in  any  part  of  your  body.  Let 
not  one  escape  you.  When  the  chair  is  deposited,  quickly 
step  away  from  it  and  again  perform  the  imaginative  ex- 
periment. Determine  not  to  miss  a  single  movement  that 
you  made  in  the  actual  lifting  and  carrying,  but  to  imagine 
them  all.  Repeat  this  double  experiment  until  you  can  do 
that. 

3.  As  the  third  experiment,  begin  to  apply,  in  actual 
speech-work,  the  development  you  have  realized  in  experi- 
ments i  and  2.  To  do  so,  again  stand  as  if  you  were  going 
to  perform  the  experiment  yourself,  but,  instead,  imagine 
someone  a  short  distance  before  you  now  performing  it. 
Determine  to  imagine  every  movement  he  makes,  as  dis- 
tinctly as  if  you  were  actually  making  all  the  movements 
yourself.  Imagine  that  you  are  before  the  class  as  you 
watch  this  person  perform  the  experiment.  Feel  that  it 
is  now  your  duty  to  describe,  orally,  each  movement  which 
you  imagine  this  person  to  make,  so  clearly  that  the  class 
can  see  and  experience  the  entire  experiment  as  you  describe 
it.  With  these  conceptions  clear  in  mind,  fix  your  mind 
upon  this  imaginary  person  about  to  perform  the  experi- 
ment. Closely  follow  him  in  every  detail,  and,  as  you 
do  so,  again  let  yourself  actually  move  only  enough  to 
start  each  movement  which  you  wish  to  imagine.  Describe 
orally,  to  the  class,  which  you  imagine  before  you,  every 
sensation  of  motion  which  you  imagine  this  person  experi- 
ences as  he  performs  the  experiment  of  actually  lifting  and 
carrying  forward  the  chair. 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  SENSE  OF  MOTION     5  5 

4.  For  the  fourth  experiment,  make  a  more  advanced 
application,  in  actual  speaking,  of  the  development  of  the 
sense  of  motion  which  you  have  realized  in  experiments 
i,  2,  and  3.  So  far,  the  entire  effort  has  been  to  experience 
actual  sensations  of  motion  and  then  to  reproduce,  in  im- 
agination, the  sensations  you  recently  received.  This  kind 
of  imagining  is  known  as  reproductive  imagination.  The 
principal  work  the  imagination  has  to  perform  in  actual 
speaking,  is  to  imagine  things  which  the  speaker  has  not 
recently  experienced.  This  kind  of  imagining  is  known  as 
productive  imagination  (sometimes  called  creative  imagina- 
tion). Let  us  at  once  do  some  work  in  productive  imagina- 
tion, work  so  similar  to  the  reproductive  imagining  already 
done,  that  we  shall  get  the  full  benefit  of  all  that  we  have 
done,  and  yet  shall  be  employing  the  imagination  as  it  will 
be  employed  in  effective  public  speaking. 

Perform  the  experiment  of  preparing  to  describe  before 
the  class  all  the  sensations  of  motion  which  you  imagine 
are  being  experienced  by  two  or  three  students  who  are 
vigorously  engaged  in  a  strenuous  midnight  prank.  Imagine 
that  you  have  taken  a  friend  with  you  to  a  place  where 
you  will  not  be  observed  and  where  you  can  watch  and 
describe  to  this  friend  every  movement  these  students  make. 
They  have  secured  a  large,  heavy,  square  box  and  are 
rapidly  tumbling  it  ahead  of  them  up  a  hill.  Imagine  that 
it  is  a  task  which  these  students  would  find  impossible  to 
do  if  they  were  required  to  do  it,  but  in  this  spirit  of 
prankish  play  they  are  throwing  into  it  all  the  power  they 
have.  Enter  fully  into  this  spirit  with  them,  and,  as  you 
describe  the  movements  of  first  one  then  another,  imagine 
so  strongly  how  you  would  feel  if  you  were  doing  those 


56    DEVELOPMENT  OF  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION 

things  yourself,  that  you  get  a  vigorous  imaginative  sen- 
sation from  every  movement  you  describe.  As  in  the  other 
experiments,  allow  yourself  to  move  only  enough  to  start 
each  movement  you  try  to  imagine.  Create  your  own  end- 
ing to  the  midnight  "lark,"  and  describe  the  movements  of 
the  students  as  they  leave  the  scene. 

Be  prepared  to  perform  experiments  2,  3,  and  4  before 
the  class.  If  I  and  2  have  been  carefully  and  vigorously 
performed  and  repeated,  in  a  careful  manner,  many  times, 
the  descriptions  as  well  as  the  imaginative  sensations  in 
3  and  4  will  be  much  more  easy  and  much  more  successful. 

In  your  descriptions,  be  sure  to  keep  imagining  that 
you  are  in  the  actual  presence  of  the  thing  you  describe. 
Speak  in  the  present  tense  of  all  the  verbs  you  use,  and 
do  not  allow  the  scene  you  describe  to  slip  away  to  the 
distance  or  the  past. 

Additional  Experiments  in  Motion 

If  the  sense  of  motion  is  not  responding  as  it  should 
do  by  the  time  these  four  experiments  are  ended,  it  may 
be  well  for  the  intending  speaker  to  spend  another  day 
or  two  on  additional  experiments  with  this  sense  before 
taking  up  another.  If  this  seems  advisable,  very  helpful 
experiments  can  be  performed  in  such  acts  as  striking  a 
punching-bag,  throwing  a  basket-ball,  or  using  a  tennis- 
racket.  The  best  development  will  be  found  by  following 
the  progressive  plan  of  the  above  experiments. 

Whether  you  take  time  for  actual  additional  experiments 
with  the  sense  of  motion  just  now  or  not,  you  should,  at 
least,  realize  that  the  few  experiments  here  outlined  cannot 


ADDITIONAL    EXPERIMENTS    IN    MOTION         57 

possibly  develop  the  sense  of  motion  as  it  must  be  developed 
for  the  most  effective  speaking.  Such  development  can 
come  only  through  vigorous,  daily  use  of  this  sense  for 
years.  You  have  seen  that  a  speech  can  be  alive  only  when 
the  speaker  senses  life  in  the  things  about  which  he  speaks. 
You  have  seen  that  it  is  your  sense  of  motion  that  fills  you 
with  the  life  of  things.  You  have  seen  how  this  sense 
responds  and  develops  through  vigorous  and  repeated  exer- 
cise. If  you  are  wise,  therefore,  you  will  begin  right  now 
to  exercise  this  sense  on  everything  around  you  that  shows 
any  remarkable  characteristic  of  motion,  and  you  will  con- 
tinue this  exercise  through  life. 


Development  of  the  Sense  of  Touch 

For  several  reasons,  the  student  will  find  it  to  his  ad- 
vantage to  begin  the  development  of  his  Sense  of  Touch 
next  after  the  Sense  of  Motion.  I.  The  work  in  touch 
joins  itself  easily  and  naturally  to  the  work  already  done 
in  motion.  2.  The  sensations  of  touch  are  stronger  and, 
hence,  more  easily  realized  than  those  of  any  other  sense 
except  motion.  3.  More  satisfactory  imaginative  sensations 
can  usually  be  experienced,  at  the  beginning,  through  touch 
than  through  any  other  sense  except  the  sense  of  motion. 
4.  It  again  employs  the  entire  body,  as  did  the  sense  of 
motion,  and  causes  the  student  still  further  to  realize  how 
his  whole  body  should  enter  into  speaking.  5.  It  tends  to 
increase  spontaneity  more  than  work  on  any  other  sense 
would  do  at  this  stage  of  the  speaker's  development. 

Before  attempting  to  develop  this  sense,  the  intending 


58     DEVELOPMENT  OF  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION 

speaker  should  get  a  clear  conception  of  the  great  value 
of  this  sense.  One  reason  why  so  many  students  can 
describe  accurately  very  few  things,  is  because  they  have 
so  little  use  of  this  sense.  They  never  keenly  realize  how 
anything  feels,  so  they  have  very  little  feeling  for  any- 
thing. One  reason,  also,  why  so  many  students  have  neither 
freedom  nor  force  nor  grace  of  gesture,  is  because  they 
have  never  developed  their  sense  of  touch.  Neither  the 
nerves  of  touch  nor  of  motion  have  been  trained  to  act 
while  the  student  is  talking.  The  result  is,  that  when  any 
action  is  needed  to  suggest  to  the  listener  the  nature  of 
the  thing  talked  about,  the  student  does  not  feel  able  to 
make  that  action.  Let  him  form  the  habit  of  describing 
things  while  touching  them,  and  of  touching  them  while 
describing  them,  and  his  gestures,  and  all  his  action,  will 
soon  become  effective  because  unconscious  and  spontaneous. 

The  fingers  are,  of  course,  the  principal  agents  of  the 
sense  of  touch,  but  many  nerves  over  the  entire  body  are 
ready  to  do  service  in  bringing  messages  of  how  things 
feel.  For  instance,  if  we  suddenly  come  into  air  that  is 
much  cooler  or  warmer  than  the  air  we  have  just  been  in, 
any  part  of  the  body  that  comes  in  contact  with  it,  will 
inform  us,  through  the  sense  of  touch,  how  the  new  air 
feels.  If  we  pass  through  thick  smoke,  the  eyes,  the  nose, 
and  even  the  lips  give  us  intense  sensations  of  touch. 

In  the  experiments  in  touch,  as  in  all  others,  the  plan 
is,  first  to  bring  the  sense  of  the  intending  speaker  into 
actual  contact  with  things;  then,  to  help  him  to  imagine 
that  sense  again  in  contact  with  those  same  things;  then, 
to  help  him  to  imagine  someone  else  in  contact  with  those 
same  things,  while  he  orally  describes  the  sensations  he 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  SENSE  OF  TOUCH  59 

imagines  that  person  to  be  receiving;  and,  finally,  to  help 
him  to  describe  a  practical  scene  in  life  in  which  similar 
sensations  play  a  prominent  part.  In  this  way,  the  sense 
is  given  the  easiest,  the  most  natural,  and  the  most  progres- 
sive development,  and  is  brought  into  use  in  practical  speak- 
ing just  as  soon  as  it  is  ready  to  be  so  used,  and  not  before. 

Experiments  to  Develop  the  Sense  of  Touch 

I.  As  the  first  experiment  in  touch,  learn  the  actual  touch 
of  all  possible  wall-surfaces  on  the  interior  of  a  house. 
Determine  to  get  the  full  benefit  from  the  sense  of  motion, 
by  entering  into  this  experiment  with  as  much  vigor  of 
movement  as  possible.  You  will  find  this  much  easier  if 
you  imagine  yourself  in  a  situation  where  you  feel  you 
must  touch  things  with  almost  desperate  earnestness.  Hence 
imagine  the  vigor  with  which  you  would  touch  these  sur- 
faces if  it  were  the  middle  of  the  night,  with  the  lights 
all  off,  when  you  find  yourself  in  a  strange  house  which, 
for  some  reason,  you  feel  you  must  leave  quickly,  yet  have 
no  means  of  finding  your  way  out  except  by  feeling  along 
the  walls.  In  such  a  situation,  you  would  press  near  to  a 
wall,  with  your  face  turned  half  toward  the  wall  and  half 
in  the  direction  you  expect  to  move.  With  the  foremost 
hand  well  opened,  you  would  begin  to  feel  earnestly  before 
you  as  you  start  forward.  Do  these  things  now. 

Consider  that  the  purpose  of  this  experiment  is  to 
enable  you  to  get  sensations  so  definite  from  each  thing 
touched,  that  you  can  describe  just  how  that  thing  feels 
to  you.  Otherwise,  the  experiment  can  be  of  little  direct 
help  in  speaking. 


6O    DEVELOPMENT  OF  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION 

Therefore,  imagine  that  someone  is  following  you,  who 
depends  absolutely  on  your  guidance.  The  instant  you  touch 
anything,  tell  this  person  what  he  may  expect  to  feel  at  this 
point  and  how  he  may  recognize  it  by  the  way  it  feels — 
tell  it  aoud.  For  instance,  you  may  say:  "Next  I  come 
to  a  papered  wall.  You  will  recognize  it  by  its  feeling 
flat  and  even,  solid  underneath  and  soft  and  dry  on  the 
surface."  As  you  move  forward,  include  in  your  list  of 
things  touched  such  surfaces  as  those  of  walls,  doors,  win- 
dows, curtains,  and  pictures  on  the  walls. 

2.  When  you  have  concluded  this  experiment  with  the 
actual  sense  of  touch,  immediately  perform  an  experiment 
with  the  imaginative  sense  of  touch.  Stand  entirely  away 
from  all  wall-surfaces,  but  imagine  yourself  at  the  place 
where  you  began  experiment  i.  Let  your  imaginative  sense 
of  location  bring  that  first  wall  just  as  near  to  you  as  it 
was  when  you  were  actually  touching  it.  Assume  the  same 
attitude  of  earnestly  feeling  your  way  forward,  as  you  had 
then.  Imagine  the  person  whom  you  are  guiding,  just  as 
near  behind  you  as  he  was  before.  Now  imagine  your 
fingers  coming  into  contact  with  the  first  surface  you 
touched,  and  passing  sensitively  and  vigorously  over  that 
surface.  If  you  fail  at  first  to  get  a  distinct  imaginative 
sensation  of  touch  in  your  fingers,  do  not  go  on  to  the  next 
surface,  but  step  over  at  once  to  the  real  surface  which  you 
are  trying  to  imagine.  Again  pass  the  fingers  over  this 
actual  surface.  This  time,  touch  it  more  sensitively  and 
more  vigorously  than  before,  and  fix  your  mind  more 
firmly  on  the  sensations  you  are  receiving  in  your  fingers. 
Go  forward  until  your  fingers  come  upon  a  surface  that 
is  decidedly  different  from  the  first  one.  Be  keenly  sensitive 
to  the  difference  in  temperature  of  the  two  surfaces,  the 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  SENSE  OF  TOUCH  6 1 

difference  in  apparent  density,  the  difference  in  resistance 
which  each  surface  offers  to  the  progress  of  your  fingers. 
Now  step  away  from  the  walls  and  again  begin  the  experi- 
ment with  the  imaginative  sense  of  touch.  As  you  do  so, 
describe  aloud  to  the  imaginary  person  whom  you  are 
guiding,  the  location  and  feeling  of  everything  you  touch 
while  you  imagine  yourself  making  the  same  vigorous  trip 
along  the  walls,  as  you  made  before. 

If  some  of  the  surfaces  still  give  you  no  satisfactory 
imaginative  sensations,  again  go  to  these  surfaces  and  ac- 
tually touch  them  until  your  sense  of  touch  is  made  distinct. 
Then  repeat  the  experiment  of  imagining  how  these  surfaces 
feel.  Continue  this  process  until  you  can  imagine  yourself 
taking  the  entire  trip  which  you  formerly  took  along  the 
walls,  and  can  imagine  the  feeling  of  everything  along  the 
way,  distinctly  enough  to  describe  its  feeling  to  the  im- 
aginary person  whom  you  are  guiding.  Continue  to  describe 
aloud  each  surface  as  you  feel  it  in  imagination. 

Before  beginning  the  third  experiment  in  sensations  of 
touch,  realize  that  the  object  of  this  experiment  is  twofold. 
Its  first  purpose  is  to  enable  you  to  profit  by  the  work 
you  have  already  done  with  this  sense,  by  putting  the  actual 
sensations  which  you  so  recently  experienced,  to  a  more 
advanced  imaginative  use,  and,  thus,  to  strengthen  still 
farther  your  imaginative  sense  of  touch.  The  second  pur- 
pose is  to  bring  you  one  step  nearer  to  the  use  you  will 
make  of  the  sense  of  touch  in  practical  speaking. 

3.  To  accomplish  the  two  things  suggested  in  the  last 
paragraph  above,  now  perform  the  third  experiment  in 
sensations  of  touch.  In  this  experiment,  imagine  that  an- 
other person  is  now  feeling  his  way  over  the  same  surfaces 
and  in  the  same  way  as  you  did  in  experiment  I  in  touch. 


62     DEVELOPMENT  OF  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION 

Imagine  that  this  person  is  a  very  short  distance  before 
you,  and  that  you  keep  this  same  distance  behind  him  as 
he  sensitively  but  vigorously  feels  each  surface.  Have  an 
imaginary  friend  beside  you  and  realize  that  your  task  now 
is,  to  describe,  to  this  imaginary  friend,  the  sensations  of 
touch  which  you  know,  by  your  recent  experience,  that  this 
person  before  you  is  receiving  as  he  passes  his  fingers 
sensitively  over  these  surfaces.  Live  his  sensations  with 
him.  Do  not  allow  yourself  to  say  that  the  thing  which 
you  imagine  this  person  to  be  touching,  feels  this  way  or 
that  merely  because  you  remember  that  it  had  this  or  that 
kind  of  feeling;  but,  before  telling  of  any  sensation  which 
he  receives,  pause  until  you  get  that  sensation  at  the  ends 
of  your  fingers.  Mere  pausing  will  not  bring  it.  It  demands, 
of  course,  that  you  concentrate  your  mind  on  the  distinct 
feeling  which  you  had  when  you  were  actually  touching 
the  same  thing,  while  you  describe  that  feeling,  aloud,  to 
the  imaginary  friend  beside  you.  If  you  do  this,  and  if 
you  use  your  sense  of  location  to  keep  things  near  enough 
to  you,  and  your  sense  of  motion  to  start  the  movement 
which  you  would  be  making  if  you  were  actually  touching 
the  things  yourself,  your  imaginative  sensations  of  touch 
should  soon  be  clear  and  distinct. 

If  you  find  that  you  have  lost  your  imaginative  sense 
of  the  touch  of  some  of  the  things,  again  actually  touch 
those  things  with  your  fingers,  with  your  mind  concentrated 
on  their  feeling,  until  your  sense  is  quickened,  then  try 
again  to  imagine  the  sensations  the  imaginary  person  before 
you  is  getting.  Continue  this  process  until  you  have  fol- 
lowed him  over  the  whole  course. 

4.  As  the  fourth  experiment  in  sensations  of  touch,  apply 


ADDITIONAL   EXPERIMENTS    IN   TOUCH          63 

the  work  done  in  experiments  i,  2,  and  3,  to  practical  speak- 
ing. Imagine  that  a  friend  of  yours  is  in  a  building  where 
a  fire  has  broken  out.  Imagine  that  the  lights  are  out, 
leaving  this  friend  in  total  darkness.  Imagine  that,  though 
the  fire  is  some  distance  from  him,  the  smoke  is  almost 
stifling  him.  Imagine  that  this  friend  gropes  his  way  from 
wall  to  wall,  by  feeling  the  various  wall-surfaces.  Describe 
orally  the  sensations  of  touch  which  you  imagine  him  to 
receive.  Describe  not  only  the  sensations  which  he  receives 
in  his  fingers,  from  feeling  his  way,  but  also  the  sensations 
of  touch  which  he  receives  on  his  skin,  in  his  eyes  and  nose, 
and  on  his  lips,  from  the  smoke  and  from  the  various 
temperatures  of  air  through  which  he  passes.  Keep  in  such 
close  sympathy  with  this  friend,  that  you  do  not  allow 
yourself  to  describe  a  single  sensation  which  he  receives, 
until  you  receive,  imaginatively,  that  sensation,  as  if  you 
were  actually  going  through  the  experience  with  him. 
Describe  his  sensations  of  touch  until  he  is  out  in  the  free 
air. 

Be  prepared  to  perform  experiments  2,  3,  and  4  before 
the  class.  The  success  of  3  and  4  will  depend  largely  on 
the  thoroughness  with  which  i  and  2  were  done  as  a  prepara- 
tion. The  success  of  all,  however,  will  depend  finally  on 
the  accuracy  and  frequency  with  which  they  are  repeated. 
There  is  a  very  old  adage  that  applies  to  all  art,  "practice 
makes  perfect."  Nowhere  is  this  more  true  than  in  the 
training  of  the  senses  for  the  spontaneous  work  which  they 
must  do  in  effective  speaking. 


64    DEVELOPMENT  OF  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION 

Additional  Experiments  in  Touch 

If  it  is  thought  best  to  devote  another  day  or  two  to 
the  development  of  the  sense  of  touch  before  beginning 
the  development  of  another  sense,  good  additional  experi- 
ments may  be  performed  on  the  rough  materials,  stone, 
concrete,  metal,  woods  of  different  kinds,  and  bricks  of 
different  kinds,  out  of  which  the  exterior  of  buildings  is 
constructed,  also  on  such  materials  as  silk,  cotton,  and 
woollen  goods  and  clothing  of  various  textures. 

If  additional  experiments  are  performed,  they  should  all 
be  done  in  the  careful,  thorough  manner  outlined  above. 
Unless  this  is  done,  the  intending  speaker  will  not  come  to 
know  the  touch  of  things,  with  any  definiteness  or  distinct- 
ness. Without  such  knowledge,  his  ability  to  describe  the 
touch  of  things  will  be  poor,  and  one  of  the  chief  elements 
of  effective  speaking  will  be  lost. 

For  these  reasons,  the  student  of  speech  who  has  mettle 
in  him,  has  already  determined  to  use  and  educate  his  sense 
of  touch  as  he  has  not  been  doing.  He  will  endeavor  to 
allow  no  single  day  to  pass  without  quickening  his  sense  of 
touch,  both  direct  and  imaginative,  by  carefully  and  vigor- 
ously using  it  upon  some  things  with  which  he  comes  in 
contact. 

The  Value  of  Description  to  the  Speaker 

You  have  observed  that  the  practical  work  in  speaking 
has  all  been  in  Description.  Or  rather,  it  has  been  a  com- 
bination of  Description  and  Narration  which  we  might  call 
Descriptive  Narrative.  So  it  should  be  for  some  time  to 


THE   VALUE   OF   DESCRIPTION   TO   SPEAKER     65 

come.  There  are  very  strong  reasons  why  speech-work 
should  be  based  upon  and  begin  in  Descriptive  Narrative. 
There  are  only  four  fundamental  things  which  men  attempt 
to  do  in  public  speaking,  i.  They  attempt  to  describe.  2. 
They  attempt  to  narrate.  3.  They  attempt  to  explain.  4. 
They  attempt  to  prove  things  by  arguments.  These  attempts 
give  rise  to  the  four  forms  of  speaking,  Description,  Narra- 
tion, Exposition,  and  Argumentation.  The  reasons  why 
Descriptive  Narrative  should  be  studied  and  practiced  first 
in  speaking,  are:  A.  Description  is  the  basis  of  all  three 
of  the  other  forms  of  speaking.  Suppose  a  speaker  attempts 
to  tell  a  story  (in  other  words,  to  give  a  Narration),  what 
is  the  first  thing  he  must  do  ?  He  must  first  describe  clearly 
the  "setting"  for  his  story ;  and  he  must  then  describe  every 
situation  out  of  which  any  part  of  his  story  arises.  So, 
Narration  must  begin  in  Description.  If  the  speaker  at- 
tempts an  Exposition,  (that  is,  if  he  attempts  to  explain 
something)  his  explanation  can  have  little  effect  until  he 
has  clearly  described  the  thing  he  would  explain.  So,  Ex- 
position must  begin  in  Description.  If  the  speaker  attempts 
to  argue  for  a  certain  principle,  as  soon  as  he  has  stated 
his  proposition,  what  does  the  mind  of  the  audience  say 
to  him?  It  says :  "Show  us  an  example  where  this  applies," 
which  is  equivalent  to  saying  "describe  a  situation  which 
illustrates  your  principle."  So,  the  real  effectiveness  of 
even  Argumentation  depends  upon  Description.  B.  As  we 
have  already  found,  work  in  Description  brings  the  begin- 
ning speaker  into  contact  with  things  about  which  he  speaks, 
takes  his  mind  away  from  himself,  and  starts  a  spontaneity 
which  work  on  any  one  of  the  other  three  forms  of  speak- 
ing could  not  do.  C.  Descriptive  Narrative,  in  which  the 


66     DEVELOPMENT  OF  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION 

speaker  moves  from  one  situation  or  event  to  another,  is 
much  easier  and  more  stimulating  to  the  beginner,  than 
pure  Description  would  be.  The  reason  for  this  is  plain : 

When  the  speaker  presents  a  Descriptive  Narrative, 
in  which  he  moves  from  one  situation  or  event  to  an- 
other, he  employs  his  greatest  aid,  his  Sense  of  Motion, 
as  he  could  not  do  in  pure  Description. 

The  Mental  Attitude  in  Description 

You  have  also  observed  that  we  have  advised  the  speaker, 
when  describing  a  thing,  to  have  beside  him  an  imaginary 
friend  to  whom  he  is  describing  the  thing  observed.  The 
reasons  for  this  method  are  these:  i.  It  allows  the  speaker 
to  make  use  of  the  habit  he  has  followed  all  his  life.  When 
we  have  described  something  in  life,  we  have  always  had 
someone  to  whom  to  describe  that  thing.  With  this  person 
beside  us  and  a  little  to  our  rear,  we  have  stepped  toward 
the  thing  described.  While  we  pointed  out  the  character- 
istics of  that  thing,  we  have  kept  saying,  mentally  at  least, 
to  this  friend  beside  us,  "Don't  you  see?"  "Now  look  at 
this,"  etc.  The  reasons  are  many  why  we  should  follow  this 
same  habit  in  our  public  speaking.  2.  This  method  of 
having  an  imaginary  friend  beside  him  when  he  describes 
anything,  is  the  speaker's  best  means  for  overcoming  all 
self-consciousness  before  an  audience.  If  the  speaker  main- 
tains this  mental  attitude  during  all  his  practice  of  a  speech 
that  he  expects  to  make,  it  is  easy  for  him  to  maintain  it 
in  that  same  speech  when  he  comes  before  the  audience. 
If  he  does  maintain  it  before  the  audience,  the  presence  of  the 
audience  cannot  trouble  him. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENSE  OF  SOUND   67 

Development  of  the  Sense  of  Sound 

Careful  examination  of  a  large  number  of  cases,  has 
proved  that  it  is  only  the  exceptional  individual  who  employs 
his  hearing  as  he  must  do,  for  the  most  effective  speaking. 
Sounds  are,  often,  the  principal  characteristics  of  things, 
the  principal  means  by  which  to  describe  those  things;  yet 
most  persons  listen  so  carelessly  that  when  they  are  asked 
to  describe  sounds  they  have  heard,  they  find  themselves 
scarcely  able  to -do  it.  They  find  themselves  equally  unable 
to  imagine  those  sounds  in  their  absence.  The  speaker  must 
be  able  to  do  both  these  things  before  he  can  hope  to  do 
the  most  effective  speaking,  for  some  of  the  best  effects 
we  ever  witness,  when  listening  to  speakers,  are  realized 
through  the  speakers'  graphic  description  of  sounds.  There 
is  a  psychological  reason  for  this.  Through  life,  when  we 
have  listened  intently  for  something,  we  have  given  our 
whole  attention  to  that  thing  as  we  do  to  few  other  things. 
This  has  become  an  unconscious  nabit.  The  result  is,  that 
when  a  speaker  vividly  describes  the  sounds  of  anything 
about  which  he  is  speaking,  both  his  attention  and  the 
attention  of  the  audience  are  at  once  fastened  upon  that 
thing,  with  unusual  firmness. 

The  reasons  why  a  beginning  speaker  will  find  it  to  his 
advantage  to  start  ihe  development  of  his  sense  of  sound 
next  after  his  work  on  the  sense  of  touch,  are  these:  I.  It 
is  easier  to  profit  by  the  work  already  done  in  the  sensations 
of  motion  and  touch.  This  is  due  to  the  fact  that  the 
sounds  we  hear  are  more  closely  associated  with  motion, 
than  sensations  received  through  any  other  sense  except 


68     DEVELOPMENT  OF  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION 

the  sense  of  touch.  2.  Because  of  this  fact,  sensations 
of  sound  are  more  vigorous,  hence,  more  easy  to  realize 
and  more  easy  to  reproduce  in  imagination,  than  sensations 
from  any  other  sense.  3.  For  these  reasons,  the  sense  of  sound 
continues  the  work  of  employing  the  whole  body  in  speech 
and  of  keeping  the  beginning  speaker  natural  and  spon- 
taneous, just  now  when  it  is  so  important  that  he  develop 
these  characteristics. 

Experiments  to  Develop  the  Sense  of  Sound 

Since  motion  is  closely  associated  with  most  of  the  sounds 
we  hear,  the  sense  of  motion  is  of  great  advantage  in 
getting  distinct  sensations  of  sound.  Because  many  things 
which  move  while  they  make  sound,  naturally  are  repeatedly 
changing  location,  the  sense  of  location  can  give  great  aid 
in  securing  distinct  sensations  of  sound. 

i.  As  the  first  experiment,  actually  listen  to  the  sounds 
made  by  a  team  going  along  the  street.  As  you  listen, 
sense,  as  clearly  as  possible,  just  how  far  from  you  the 
team  is  when  each  sound  is  made.  If  there  are  alternating 
light  and  heavy  sounds,  sense  the  movements  which  produce 
these  sounds.  But,  while  noting  these  motions,  rivet  the 
attention  so  closely  to  the  sounds,  that  the  motion  seems 
to  be  a  part  of  the  sounds  themselves.  Give  your  closest 
and  most  undivided  attention  to  these  sounds  from  the 
time  you  hear  them  faintly  in  the  distance  till  they  pass 
you  and  die  away  in  the  opposite  direction. 

If  it  is  not  found  possible,  within  the  time  at  your 
disposal,  to  listen  to  the  sounds  made  by  a  team,  the  rhythmic 
sounds  produced  by  an  approaching  and  receding  train, 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  SENSE  OF  SOUND  69 

or  motor-boat,  or  an  automobile  that  is  moving  slowly 
enough  and  with  noises  loud  enough  for  each  sound  to  be 
distinct,  may  be  as  satisfactory  as  the  sounds  from  the  team. 

2.  For  the  second  experiment  in  sound,  employ  the  im- 
aginative sense  on  the  same  sounds  to  which  you  have  just 
been  listening  with  the  direct  sense.  As  soon  as  the  team 
has  passed  and  the  sounds  made  by  it  have  ceased,  try  to 
imagine  that  you  are  again  hearing  the  team  approach  and 
pass  just  as  it  did  before. 

As  you  do  so,  make  the  following  tests:  Are  the  sounds 
real  to  you?  Do  you  hear  them  now?  Or  do  you  only 
remember  exactly  how  the  sounds  occurred?  If  you  do 
hear  them  distinctly,  give  a  vigorous  oral  description,  to 
a  friend  whom  you  imagine  to  be  standing  beside  you,  of 
just  how  the  sounds  affect  you;  tell  what  motions  the 
imaginative  sounds  set  up  in  your  ears,  or  in  any  other 
part  of  your  body,  how  they  make  you  feel.  If  you  do 
not  actually  hear  the  sounds  in  your  imagination,  do  you 
get  any  imaginative  sensations  from  the  team?  Do  you 
get  definite  sensations  of  location  of  the  team,  is  it  drawing 
nearer  to  you  or  going  farther  away  from  you  at  each 
successive  sound?  If  not,  then  concentrate  the  mind  upon 
it  until  it  does  become  definitely  located  in  the  imagination. 
Now,  keeping  its  location  well  fixed  in  mind,  with  the 
location  changing  with  each  sound,  begin  to  imagine  the 
motions  which  produce  the  sounds.  Are  these  motions  real 
to  you?  Do  they  cause  your  nerves  to  move  with  them 
as  they  did  when  you  were  listening  to  the  very  sounds 
produced  by  these  motions  ?  Do  the  light  and  heavy  motions 
come  with  regularity  and  do  they  give  you  distinctly  dif- 
ferent sensations  ?  As  you  fasten  your  mind  to  these  move- 


70    DEVELOPMENT  OF  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION 

ments  and  their  definite  locations,  and  give  'yourself  up 
to  their  rhythm,  thinking  how  they  are  causing  the  sounds, 
do  you  begin  to  hear  the  sounds  faintly?  Continue  in  this 
manner,  getting  all  possible  help  from  the  senses  of  location 
and  motion,  until  the  sounds  become  distinct. 

Through  the  entire  experiment,  describe  aloud,  to  the 
imaginary  friend  beside  you,  every  sensation  you  receive. 
Do  not  allow  yourself  to  lapse  into  inaction,  and  merely 
wait  for  the  sounds  to  come  to  you.  Don't  forget  for  a 
moment  that  you  can  become  a  more  effective  speaker, 
through  this  experiment,  only  by  making  the  imaginative 
sounds  so  real  to  you  that  you  can  make  the  listener  hear 
them. 

Realize  also,  that  though  you  may  not,  at  first,  be  able 
to  imagine  as  distinct  sounds  as  you  wish  you  might,  if  you 
have  performed  the  work  carefully  as  outlined,  you  have 
received  real  and  live  sensations,  through  the  senses  of 
location  and  motion.  These  sensations  have  made  the  sounds 
seem  to  you  real  and  present,  while  you  described  them, 
even  if  you  could  not  actually  hear  them.  More  than 
that,  if  you  have  made  your  sensations,  received  through 
these  two  senses,  as  strong  as  you  can  do,  they  have  given 
a  spontaneity  to  your  description  which  no  other  process 
could  do. 

3.  For  the  third  experiment  in  developing  the  sense  of 
sound,  apply  what  you  have  gained,  in  experiments  I  and 
2,  to  practical  speaking.  Prepare  a  description  of  a  scene 
where  you  listen  intently  to  sounds  that  are  approaching. 
An  ideal  scene  for  this  experiment  is  to  imagine  that  you 
are  one  of  a  small  scouting  party  that  has  been  sent  forward 
to  gain  some  information  of  great  value  to  your  country. 


ADDITIONAL   EXPERIMENTS    IN    SOUND  71 

Imagine  that  each  member  of  your  little  party  was  sent  out 
alone,  and,  amidst  much  danger,  has  made  his  observations 
and  has  escaped  the  enemy.  Imagine  that  you  have  all 
hastened  away  some  distance  from  the  enemy's  lines,  and 
that  you  have  now  met  at  night  in  an  appointed  place  in 
a  thicket  near  a  road.  Let  your  description  begin  at  this 
point,  with  your  party  all  present  in  the  thicket.  Feel  that 
your  nerves  are  tense  from  fear  that  you  may  have  been 
detected.  Feel  that  you,  personally,  now  have  the  task  of 
standing  as  near  the  road  as  you  dare  to  do,  and  of  telling 
your  companions  when  you  hear  anyone  coming.  As  you 
listen  intently,  imagine  that  you  hear  something,  in  the 
distance,  which  you  know  to  be  a  horse's  hoofs  striking  the 
road. 

With  this  situation  clear  in  mind,  begin  your  description 
here  and  construct  the  outcome  from  your  own  productive 
imagination.  As  you  do  so,  give  a  graphic  oral  description, 
to  your  anxious  companions,  of  everything  you  hear.  Feel 
that,  for  some  reason,  those  with  you  can  know  what  is 
going  on,  only  as  you  tell  them,  hence  you  must  make  them 
hear  everything  you  hear.  This  is  the  case  with  any  public 
audience,  and,  for  this  reason,  such  an  attitude  will  help 
you  to  do  much  more  effective  speaking. 

Let  this  description  be  about  three  minutes  in  length. 
Be  prepared  to  perform  experiments  2  and  3  before  the 
class. 

Additional  Experiments  in  Sound 

If  it  is  thought  best  to  devote  another  day  or  two  to 
the  sense  of  sound,  in  order  to  make  its  action  more  vigor- 
ous, before  beginning  the  development  of  another  sense, 


72     DEVELOPMENT  OF  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION 

good  examples  on  which  to  experiment  may  be  found  in 
the  many  strong  and  rhythmic  sounds  occurring  all  around 
you.  Some  of  these,  the  train,  the  automobile,  the  motor- 
boat,  were  suggested  above.  The  ringing  of  a  large  bell 
and  the  ticking  of  a  clock  are  also  good  sounds  for  ex- 
perimental purposes.  The  principal  things  to  be  remembered 
in  selecting  a  sound  for  an  experiment,  are  that  it  should 
be  a  sound  produced  by  a  strong  and  free  movement,  that 
the  movement  be  recurrent  with  light  and  heavy  strokes, 
and  that  the  sound  be  near  enough  to  be  definitely  located. 
These  things  make  it  much  easier  to  reproduce  the  sound 
in  imagination. 

As  we  have  said  before,  the  experiments  outlined  here 
can  do  no  more  than  give  the  speaker  the  start  that  he 
needs,  and  get  clearly  before  him  the  fact  that  by  careful, 
daily  education  of  the  senses,  can  he  hope  to  have  that  full 
development  of  them  which  effective  speaking  demands. 
Therefore,  make  it  a  daily  practice  to  select  some  distinct 
sound  in  your  room  or  outside  your  window,  or  outside 
the  city.  Treat  that  sound  as  you  did  in  experiment  i. 
Then,  immediately  afterward,  test  the  sensation  you  have 
received  by  trying  to  reproduce  it  in  imagination,  as  in 
experiment  2. 

Development  of  the  Sense  of  Sight 

Public  speakers  attempt  more  descriptions  of  things  ex- 
perienced through  the  sense  of  sight,  than  through  any 
other  sense.  Yet  it  is  surprising  how  much  less  effective 
such  descriptions  often  are,  than  those  which  a  speaker 
gives  through  the  sense  of  motion  or  touch  or  sound.  The 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  SENSE  OF  SIGHT    73 

reason  why  the  imaginative  sense  of  sight  is  so  often  less 
effective  in  speech,  than  the  other  senses,  seems  to  be  as 
follows.  We  are  accustomed  to  look  at  things  without 
concentrating  our  minds  on  the  things  looked  at,  intently 
enough  to  give  us  any  strong  impressions  from  those  things. 
Consequently,  when  we  try  to  draw,  before  an  audience,  a 
picture  of  something  we  imagine  we  see,  our  imaginative 
sense-impressions  from  that  thing  are  too  weak  to  produce 
the  desired  effect  on  speaker  or  audience. 

It  is  clear,  then,  that  if  we  wish  to  make  a  success  of 
this  sense  in  speech-work,  we  must  first  train  ourselves  to 
select  quickly,  from  the  many  things  to  be  seen,  the  few 
things  which  deserve  our  undivided  attention.  We  must 
then  train  ourselves  to  concentrate  the  mind  so  strongly 
on  these  selected  things,  actually  seen,  that  we  shall  have 
strong  mental  images  of  them. 

In  this  training,  the  sense  of  location  is  of  great  value. 
In  fact,  it  is  quite  impossible  to  realize  vivid  and  effective 
mental  pictures  if  we  do  not  employ  the  sense  of  location 
to  tell  us  just  how  far  from  us  is  the  object  we  wish  to 
picture  and  also  to  trace  for  us  the  outline  of  that  object. 
Make  the  test  and  you  will  soon  discern  that  a  mental 
picture  becomes  strong  enough  to  be  practical  and  effective 
in  speaking  only  when  It  brings  before  the  mind  three 
things:  first,  the  location  of  the  thing  we  are  trying  to 
Imagine  we  see  (that  is,  just  how  far  from  us  that  thing 
is);  secondly,  the  outline  of  that  thing  (Including  its  size 
and  shape) ;  thirdly,  the  coloring  of  that  thing. 


74    DEVELOPMENT  OF  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION  . 

Experiments  to  Develop  the  Sense  of  Sight 

1.  As  the  first  experiment  to  develop  the  sense  of  sight, 
look  intently  at  some  object  of  distinct  outline,  with  the 
outline  decidedly  varied.     Let  it  be  an  object  of  distinct 
and  vivid  color.     First,  sense  keenly  the  distance  of  this 
object  from  you.    When  you  have  done  this,  fix  your  eyes, 
and  your  mind,  on  the  outline  of  the  object.     Begin  at 
some  point  on  the  outline  and  trace  it  all  the  way  around, 
paying  close  attention  to  every  change  in  the  direction  of 
the   outline.     When  the   eyes   have   traveled  all  the  way 
around,  try  to  see  the  entire  object  at  once.    As  you  do  so, 
get  the  most  vivid  possible  sensations  of  the  entire  outline. 
At  the  same  time,  pay  close  attention  to  the  color  of  the 
object  and  try  to  feel  that  the  outline  and  color  are  essential 
parts  of  the  object.    Do  this  several  times,  each  time  deep- 
ening your  sense-impressions  of  the  size  and  shape  of  the 
color  looked  at,  and  also  of  the  nature  of  that  color.    Does 
it  seem  thicker  or  thinner  in  substance  than  the  general 
color  surrounding  it?     Does   it  seem  lighter  or  heavier, 
cooler  or  warmer?     Sense  these  things  so  keenly  that  you 
feel,  as  never  before,  how  much  the  color  and  the  outline 
tell  you  of  the  very  nature  of  the  object. 

2.  As  the  second  experiment  in  sensations  of  sight,  try 
to  reproduce  in  imagination  the  object  studied  in  experi- 
ment I.     Turn  away  from  the  object,  try  to  imagine  it 
the  same  distance  from  you  as  it  was  when  you  looked  at 
it,  and  trace  the  entire  outline  in  imagination.    As  you  do 
so,  imagine  a  friend  beside  you  and  describe  aloud  to  this 
friend  exactly  what  you  see  in  imagination.    If  the  outline 
is  not  perfectly  distinct,  turn  again  to  the  object  and  again 


EXPERIMENTS   TO   DEVELOP   SENSE   OF   SIGHT     75 

trace  the  outline,  with  your  eyes  and  mind  still  more  firmly 
concentrated  on  it.  Then  again  try  to  imagine  it.  As  the 
outline  becomes  clearer  in  imagination,  does  the  color  be- 
come real  and  vivid?  If  it  does,  describe  aloud  the  sense- 
impressions  you  get  of  the  nature  of  that  color.  If  the 
color  is  not  yet  vivid  in  imagination,  try  to  recall  the 
impressions  you  got  of  the  way  this  color  seems  to  contrast, 
in  its  inner  nature,  with  the  nature  of  the  color  outside  its 
outline.  If  it  still  will  not  become  vivid  in  imagination, 
turn  again  to  the  object  and  renew  your  sense-impressions 
of  this  contrast.  Then  try  again  to  imagine  the  color  as 
well  as  the  form  of  the  object.  Now  test  the  imagination 
by  closing  the  eyes.  Are  both  the  outline  and  the  color 
distinct?  Continue  the  experiment  until  they  are  so,  either 
with  the  eyes  open  or  closed. 

Remember  that  in  this  experiment  you  are  attempting 
to  do  something  that  will  bring  you,  as  quickly  as  possible,  to 
a  practical  use  of  your  imaginative  sense  of  sight,  in  effec- 
tive speaking.  To  accomplish  this,  it  is  necessary  that  you 
describe  aloud,  each  time  you  try  to  imagine  the  object 
studied,  what  you  actually  see  in  imagination. 

3.  For  the  third  experiment  in  sensations  of  sight,  apply 
the  work  done  in  experiments  I  and  2,  to  practical  speaking. 
Observe  a  scene  made  up  of  many  objects  of  many  shapes 
and  colors.  Let  it  be  a  scene  of  decided  "atmosphere/1 
or  character,  and  not  merely  a  jumble  of  dissociated  objects. 
For  instance,  if  the  scene  you  choose  for  the  experiment 
is  a  room,  let  it  be  one  in  which  the  principal  characteristics 
are  order  and  neatness,  or  quite  the  opposite  to  these.  Be- 
fore beginning,  realize  that  the  experiment  is  to  test  how 
well  you  can  reproduce  in  imagination  the  actual  appearance 


76     DEVELOPMENT  OF  SENSATION  AND  IMAGINATION 

of  this  scene,  and  how  well  you  can  describe  orally  the 
scene  which  you  imagine.  First  concentrate  your  eyes  and 
mind  on  the  general  scene  until  you  have  an  unmistakable 
impression  of  the  chief  characteristics  of  the  scene  and  the 
principal  things  in  it  which  give  it  that  characteristic.  When 
this  is  done,  then  observe  these  objects  one  by  one,  and 
experiment  on  each  one  just  as  you  did  on  the  single 
object  in  experiment  i.  As  you  do  so,  try  not  only  to  fix 
that  object  so  firmly  in  mind  that  you  can  imagine  it  later, 
but  try  also  to  realize  how  that  object,  through  its  position, 
its  outline,  and  its  color,  adds  its  part  to  the  general  char- 
acter of  the  scene.  When  you  have  observed,  in  this 
manner,  all  the  objects  in  the  scene,  then  concentrate  your 
eyes  and  mind,  for  a  few  moments,  on  the  whole  scene 
at  once,  while  you  review  rapidly  the  part  the  various 
articles  play  in  making  up  the  whole  scene.  Now  turn 
from  the  scene  and  try  to  imagine  it  all  before  you,  just 
as  it  was  when  you  were  actually  looking  at  it.  As  you  do 
so,  imagine  that  a  friend  stands  beside  you  and,  to  this 
friend,  describe  orally  what  you  see  in  imagination.  Repeat 
this  experiment  until  you  can  make  your  description  ac- 
curate, orderly,  rapid  and  vigorous. 

Again  let  us  remind  the  intending  speaker  that  if  he 
would  make  his  speaking  interesting,  he  must  avoid  letting 
the  thing  imagined  slip  away  to  the  distance. 

The  speaker  must  keep  things  as  close  to  him  in  im- 
agination as  they  were  when  he  was  actually  observing 
them,  and  must  describe  them  as  if  he  were  actually 
showing  them  and  pointing  them  out  to  the  listener. 


THE    OTHER    SENSES  77 

Additional  Experiments  in  Sight 

If  it  is  thought  best  to  spend  more  time  at  once  on  the 
development  of  the  sense  of  sight,  countless  objects  on 
every  hand  furnish  abundant  material  for  experiments.  To 
get  results,  every  experiment  must  be  performed  with  ac- 
curacy and  thoroughness.  The  sense  of  location  must  be 
constantly  used  as  an  aid  to  the  sense  of  sight,  to  give  the 
student  definite  sense- impressions  of  the  location  and  out- 
line of  each  thing  observed.  The  sensations  received  must 
constantly  be  tested  to  see  if  they  can  be  reproduced  in 
imagination.  And,  finally,  the  speaker  must  make  it  a 
habit  to  describe  orally  the  results  of  his  experiment,  if 
he  would  associate  his  experimental  work,  with  practical 
speaking  in  such  a  way  as  to  cause  it  to  produce  its  own  fruit. 

With  this  plan  before  him,  the  alert  student  will  experi- 
ment every  day  on  at  least  one  or  two  things  whose  outline 
and  coloring  give  them  distinctive  appearance  and  char- 
acter. In  this  practice,  he  will  not  only  gain  knowledge 
accurate,  more  accurate  by  far,  of  things  which  he  sees, 
and  thus  have  a  greater  fund  of  first-hand  knowledge  to 
enrich  his  speaking,  but  will  also  immeasurably  increase 
spontaneity  and  attractiveness  in  his  speaking. 

THE  OTHER  SENSES 

Interesting  and  helpful  experiments  may  be  performed 
also  in  sensations  of  taste  and  smell.  These  senses,  how- 
ever, are  not  very  often  employed  in  speech-work.  For 
this  reason,  we  have  not  taken  the  time  and  the  space  to 
outline  such  experiments. 


CHAPTER  IV 
CONCEPTION 

WE  have  now  learned  that  Sensation  and  Imagination 
are  two  of  the  basic  causes  of  effectiveness  in  speaking. 
We  shall  soon  see  that  another  function  of  the  mind, 
known  as  Conception,  is  the  chief  means  of  bringing  these 
two  functions  of  the  mind  to  their  highest  usefulness,  and 
that,  with  them,  it  is  another  foundation-stone  on  which 
effective  speaking  must  be  built. 

The  Definition  of  Conception 

Perhaps  we  can  see  more  clearly  just  what  this  act  or 
function  of  the  mind  is,  if  we  examine  the  relation  between 
it  and  Sensation,  with  which  we  are  now  familiar.  Sup- 
pose you  have  never  seen  a  fire-fly.  You  are  walking  at 
night  when  you  suddenly  see  a  flash  of  light  at  your  feet. 
You  know  that  you  have  experienced  a  sensation.  You  look 
again  at  the  spot  whence  the  light  came,  and  discover  that 
the  flash  of  light  continues  to  come  at  intervals.  You  in- 
vestigate the  source  of  this  light  and  find  that  it  is  in  a 
small,  soft,  rather  slender,  winged  insect,  that  has  the 
peculiar  function  of  emitting  light  from  a  part  of  its  body 
till  it  seems  to  be  on  fire,  yet  feels  as  cold  to  your  touch 
as  other  insects.  You  now  say  that  you  have  a  conception 
of  the  fire-fly.  What  do  you  mean?  You  mean  that  you 

78 


A  PRIMAL  CAUSE   OF  EFFECTIVE   SPEAKING     79 

have  learned  enough  characteristics  of  this  bug  to  know  it 
if  you  meet  it  again,  and  to  know  that  you  have  met  it 
before.  The  function  of  the  mind  by  which  we  are  able 
to  single  out,  from  all  other  things  in  the  world,  a  distinct 
thing  and  know  it  as  the  same  thing  we  have  known  before, 
we  call  Conception.  Dr.  James  (Psychology,  I,  461)  defines 
conception  as:*  The  function  by  which  we  identify  a 
numerically  distinct  and  permanent  subject  of  discourse. 
In  simpler  and  fewer  terms,  we  might  call  it  the  function 
by  which  we  recognise  a  distinct  thing. 

A  Primal  Cause  of  Effective  Speaking 

When  we  have  learned  what  conception  is,  we  hardly 
need  to  be  told  that  it  is  one  of  the  strongest  of  all  causes 
of  effective  speaking.  We  have  found,  in  the  definition 
just  formulated,  that  when  the  mind  conceives  a  thing,  it 
singles  that  thing  out  from  all  other  things  in  the  world 
and  fixes  the  attention  upon  that  thing.  What  is  more 
important  to  the  speaker  than  this  very  process?  Every 
moment  a  speaker  stands  before  an  audience,  every  mind 
in  that  audience,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  expects  him 
to  bring  the  attention  of  all  to  one  definite  and  certain  thing. 
How  can  he  do  this  if  his  own  mind  is  not  fixed  on  one 
certain  thing?  This  a  speaker  is  never  able  to  do  with 
certainty  until  he  has  thoroughly  trained  the  function  of 
his  mind  which  we  have  called  conception.  We  can  think 
of  nothing  that  better  illustrates  a  speaker's  need  of  clear 
conceptions,  than  the  situation  of  an  acrobat  as  he  walks 
a  rope  suspended  in  mid  air.  If  the  acrobat  should  fail, 

*  Italics  ours. 


8O  CONCEPTION 

for  one  instant,  to  keep  his  eye  fixed  on  a  definite  object, 
he  would  very  likely  fall  from  his  position.  In  like  manner 
the  speaker  who  speaks  w^iout  having  his  mind  on  a  dis- 
tinct thing,  figurately  loses  Deposition  in  the  estimation  of 
his  hearers,  and  his  speech  lo^^its  effectiveness. 

The  term  "conception"  has  ^fc  fairly  distinct  meanings. 
When  we  use  this  word  in  one  oRits  meanings,  we  refer 
to  the  action  of  the  mind  when  a  conception  is  being  formed; 
in  the  other  meaning  of  the  word,  we  refer  to  the  recogni- 
tion of  a  thing  the  conception  of  which  has  previously  been 
formed.  These  two  actions  of  the  mind  are  easily  to  be 
distinguished  in  the  above  illustration  of  the  fire-fly.  When 
the  mind  was  gaining  new  knowledge  of  that  insect  by 
closely  examining  its  chief  characteristics,  the  mind,  we 
say,  was  then  conceiving,  or  forming  a  conception  of,  the 
fire-fly.  If  later  that  mind  meets  that  kind  of  insect  again, 
or  if  the  imagination  brings  an  image  of  the  fire-fly  before 
the  mind,  and  if,  in  either  case,  that  mind  recognizes  the 
insect,  we  say  that  mind  has  a  conception  of  the  fire-fly. 
These  are  the  two  ways  in  which  conception,  when  rightly 
developed  and  employed,  stands  ready  to  aid  us.  It  is 
the  function  which  gives  us  the  ability  to  recognize  a  thing 
at  a  future  time,  and  is  also  the  function  by  which  we  do 
recognise  what  we  have  known. 

What  These  Mean  to  the  Speaker 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  first  of  these  mental  acts  is 
vitally  important  to  the  speaker.  No  matter  how  simple 
a  subject  he  may  have  to  present  to  an  audience,  if  his 
preparation  of  that  subject  is  what  it  should  be,  while 


WHAT    THESE    MEAN    TO    THE    SPEAKER          8 1 

preparing  his  speech,  the  speaker  selects  certain  very  defi- 
nite things  which  he  wishes  to  bring  before  the  minds  of 
his  audience.  Then  he  turns  his  mind  to  these  things, 
one  at  a  time,  and  becomes  so  thoroughly  familiar  with  each 
of  them  that  he  can  easily  and  quickly  recognize  each  of 
them  later.  In  other  words,  he  forms  a  thorough  concep- 
tion of  each  of  them.  The  mental  process  of  forming 
conceptions  is  the  most  important  part  of  thorough  prepara- 
tion of  any  speech. 

When  does  a  speaker  employ  conception  in  its  second 
use  and  meaning?  When  is  it  necessary  for  him  to  recog- 
nize quickly  and  fully,  things  which  he  has  already  thor- 
oughly conceived?  Is  it  not  clear  that  this  is  just  what 
a  speaker  must  do  in  presenting  his  speech,  if  he  hopes  to 
make  it  really  effective?  Is  it  not  clear  that  if  the  speaker 
hopes  to  succeed  in  holding  the  attention  of  his  audience 
on  one  single,  definite  thing  at  a  time,  by  holding  his  own 
mind  on  that  thing,  then  the  speaker's  mind  must  be  fixed 
on  one  of  those  things  of  which  he  has  formed  a  clear  and 
strong  conception?  Furthermore,  if  the  speaker  holds  the 
minds  of  his  hearers  on  only  one  thing,  he  must  do  so  by 
interesting  his  hearers,  must  he  not?  He  will  interest  his 
hearers  only  in  those  things  in  which  he  is  interested.  To 
be  instantly  and  constantly  interested  in  the  things  about 
which  he  speaks,  the  speaker  must  quickly  recognize  not 
only  things  which  he  has  known  before,  but  also  the  char- 
acteristics of  those  things  which  make  them  interesting  to 
him.  He  must  show  these  characteristics  to  the  audience 
in  such  a  way  as  to  make  them  catch  the  interest  of  the 
audience  as  they  caught  his  interest.  This  makes  it  quite 
as  necessary  for  the  speaker  to  build  his  conceptions  over 


82  CONCEPTION 

again  before  his  audience  as  it  was  to  build  them  when  he 
prepared  his  speech,  if  his  speech  is  to  have  the  effectiveness 
which  it  may  have  and  should  have. 

Conceiving  the  Sources  of  Interest 

We  have  just  said  that  a  speaker  must  conceive  the 
characteristics  of  a  thing,  which  make  him  interested  in 
that  thing.  This  brings  before  us  the  question,  what  are 
the  characteristics  of  things  which  make  us  interested  in 
them?  Some  people,  when  asked  this  question,  will  reply: 
"We  are  interested  in  things  concerning  which  we  know 
something."  Others  will  say:  "We  are  interested  in  some- 
thing different,  something  new."  The  author  of  this  book 
has  received  both  these  replies  many  times  from  thoughtful 
people  and  people  of  experience.  A  thorough  study  of 
the  elements  of  interest,  seems  to  prove  that  both  these  replies 
are  correct,  contradictory  as  they  seem  to  be.  Unques- 
tionably we  all  have  a  tendency  to  be  interested  in  some- 
thing new — in  a  novelty;  but  what  is  a  "novelty"?  If  we 
investigate  it  closely,  we  shall  find  that  it  is  a  familiar  thing 
in  an  unfamiliar  form  or  situation.  Suppose,  for  instance, 
this  extremely  "novel"  case.  A  flying  machine  passes  high 
over  a  remote  settlement  where  the  inhabitants  have  never 
heard  of  such  an  invention.  Instantly  every  man,  woman 
and  child  looks,  in  rapt  amazement.  Interest  is  intense. 
Why?  Because,  although  they  have  often  seen  creatures 
flying  through  the  air,  they  have  never  seen  a  bird  like  this 
one.  Or  suppose  the  strange  object  comes  near  enough 
for  the  people  to  see  that  it  is  a  machine  run  by  a  man. 
Their  interest  now  increases  many  fold.  Why?  Because, 
though  they  have  seen  men  run  machines,  they  never  saw 


THE    BASIS    FOR   CONCEPTION  83 

one  in  mid  air.  It  is  clear  that  their  interest  springs  from 
the  discovery  of  familiar  things  in  unfamiliar  form  and 
situation.  This  same  principle  runs  throughout  life.  To  be 
interested  in  a  thing,  we  must  find  what  there  is  familiar 
and  what  there  is  unfamiliar  about  that  thing. 

On  this  point,  Dr.  William  James,  with  his  usual  clearness 
(Talks  to  Teachers,  p.  108)  says:  "Neither  the  old  nor 
the  new,  by  itself,  is  interesting:  the  absolutely  old  is  insipid ; 
the  absolutely  new  makes  no  appeal  at  all.  The  old  in 
the  new  is  what  claims  attention — the  old  with  a  slightly 
new  turn."  (See  also  Pyle,  Educational  Psych.,  214-217; 
Miinsterberg,  Psych,  and  the  Teacher,  163 ;  and  Royce, 
Out.  of  Psych.,  235-6.) 

Development  and  right  use  of  the  function  of  conception, 
are  the  only  means  given  the  speaker  by  which  to  discover 
these  elements  of  interest,  hence  the  only  means  by  which 
to  assure  himself  that  he  can  interest  an  audience. 

We  have  seen  that  conception  can  do  for  the  speaker 
four  things.  It  can  enable  him,  i,  to  discern  those  things 
which  are  worthy  to  receive  his  undivided  attention;  2,  to 
know  those  things  so  well  that  he  will  instantly  recognize 
them  later;  3,  to  distinguish  the  characteristics  of  those 
things  which  will  interest  an  audience;  4,  so  to  fasten  his 
mind  on  these  elements  of  interest,  that  the  attention  of 
the  audience  will  be  assured.  Surely  the  function  of  the 
mind  that  does  these  things,  is  a  primal  cause  of  effective 
speaking. 

The  Basis  for  Conception 

From  what  we  have  said  above,  it  is  evident  that  a  speaker 
can  form  a  worthwhile  conception  of  anything  only  when 


84  CONCEPTION 

he  recognizes  in  that  thing  some  characteristics  he  has  known 
before.  It  is  also  evident  that  it  is  not  necessary  that  the 
thing  conceived  should  have  been  literally  experienced.  By 
this  we  mean  that  it  is  not  necessary  that  the  thing  conceived 
should  have  been  fcfore  the  mind  in  its  present  form.  In- 
deed, we  seem  able  to  conceive  things  which  we  have  never 
experienced  at  all.  You  can,  this  moment,  conceive  a  mer- 
maid, a  thing  that  does  not  even  exist.  How  do  we  come 
to  possess  this  ability  to  "identify"  things  we  never  saw? 
Do  you  not  see  that  all  the  mind  does,  in  this  instance, 
is  to  make  a  "compound"  conception?  The  mind  holds 
two  distinct  conceptions,  one  of  a  maid  and  one  of  a  fish. 
The  imagination  puts  a  part  of  the  image  of  the  one  against 
a  part  of  the  image  of  the  other.  The  power  of  conceiving 
recognizes  each  part  as  a  form  of  life  it  has  known.  It 
recognizes  also  that  each  part  is  incomplete  in  itself  and 
might  be  completed  by  the  other;  therefore  it  recognizes 
the  two  parts  as  a  possible  whole.  It  does  not  mean  that 
the  imagination  has  deceived  the  function  of  conceiving, 
for  conception  also  recognizes  the  difference  between  the 
thing  now  before  it  and  things  it  has  known  before.  The 
important  point  to  be  remembered  is  this:  Whether  con- 
ception recognizes,  in  anything  before  it,  something  it  has 
known  in  its  whole  and  present  form,  or  whether  it  recog- 
nizes it  as  something  only  a  small  part  of  which  it  has 
known,  the  basis  for  conceiving  is  the  finding  in  the  thing 
to  be  conceived  something  we  have  known  before. 

New  Conceptions  Essential  to  Growth 

Since  the  basis  for  conceiving .  is  the  finding  in  a  thing 
something  we  have  known  before,  it  is  clear  that  we  can 


NEW  CONCEPTIONS   ESSENTIAL  TO   GROWTH    85 

form  a  new  conception  of  anything  only  when  we  discover 
in  that  thing  something  different  from  what  we  have  known 
before.  It  is  also  evident  that  every  time  we  gain  the  least 
particle  of  new  knowledge,  we  do  so  by  forming  a  new 
conception.  This  means  that  the  degree  of  mental  growth, 
in  anyone,  depends  directly  and  absolutely  on  the  number, 
and  the  accuracy,  of  the  new  conceptions  which  that  mind 
forms. 

The  student  of  speech  who  is  alert,  will  be  quick  to  see 
how  much  this  principle  of  new  conceptions  means  to  him. 
He  will  see  that  it  is  the  very  essence  of  ability  to  interest 
an  audience.  We  have  learned  that  interest  depends  on 
finding  something  new  or  unfamiliar  connected  with  some- 
thing old  or  familiar.  We  have  now  found  that  this  is 
the  very  process  by  which  new  conceptions  are  formed. 
From  this  it  would  appear  that  new  conceptions  and  interest 
are  inseparable.  In  other  words,  it  would  seem  that  if  one 
keeps  forming  new  conceptions,  and  can  convey  them,  he 
is  sure  to  be  able  to  interest  an  audience.  Is  this  true? 
By  no  means.  The  speaker  must  not  only  form  new  con- 
ceptions; he  must  form  new  conceptions  of  the  right  kind. 
They  must  be  new  conceptions  of  things  which  vitally 
concern  his  work,  the  work  of  public  speaking. 

Let  us  consider,  for  a  moment,  the  kind  of  conceptions 
which  the  work  of  public  speaking  demands.  We  have 
learned  that  to-day,  as  never  before,  the  success  of  a  speaker 
depends  on  his  being  able  to  adapt  everything  he  says  in 
public,  to  the  demands  of  each  new  occasion  and  each  new 
audience.  This  means  that  the  speaker  must  be  ever  alert 
to  conceive  the  important  changes  which  are  taking  place 
all  around  him.  He  must  form  a  clear  conception  of  each 


86  CONCEPTION 

new  thing  he  reads  or  observes.  He  must  conceive  the 
essential  characteristics  of  each  particular  occasion  on  which 
he  is  about  to  speak.  He  must  form  as  clear  a  conception 
as  possible  of  each  new  audience  which  he  is  to  address. 
Finally,  he  must  conceive  the  effect  all  these  things  may 
have  on  the  message  he  intends  to  present,  and,  according 
to  this  effect,  he  must  r^-conceive  his  subject. 

These  many  demands  on  the  speaker,  for  new  conceptions, 
make  it  clear  that  the  speaker  should  first  learn  the  process 
by  which  he  can  most  quickly  form  accurate  and  adequate 
conceptions.  When  this  has  been  accomplished,  he  should 
then  be  thoroughly  trained  in  forming  quick  and  clear  con- 
ceptions of  all  things  about  which  he  speaks. 

Let  us  adopt  this  plan,  and,  according  to  it,  let  us  next 
investigate — 

The  Sources  of  New  Conceptions 

When  we  examine  the  elements  out  of  which  a  new  con- 
ception is  built,  we  find  at  once  the  close  relation  between 
conception  and  the  two  functions  of  the  mind  which  we 
have  already  studied,  sensation  and  imagination.  We  find 
that  conception  is  the  immediate  outgrowth  of  the  other 
two  and,  hence,  should  naturally  be  studied  and  developed 
immediately  after  them. 

To  illustrate  how  a  conception  begins  in  and  grows  out 
of  sensation  and  imagination,  let  us  turn  again  to  the  case 
of  the  fire-fly.  When  you  first  met  that  interesting  little 
insect,  a  sensation  introduced  it  to  you.  A  sensation  in- 
troduces to  us  every  new  thing  we  meet.  As  soon  as  you 
had  met  it,  you  began  seeking  further  knowledge  of  that 


THE  SOURCES  OF  NEW  CONCEPTIONS     87 

insect.  This  you  did  by  examining  its  characteristics.  Sen- 
sations, one  after  another,  told  you  every  one  of  those  char- 
acteristics. Sensations,  direct  or  imaginative,  always  tell 
us  the  characteristics  of  things,  hence  form  the  foundation 
of  every  new  conception.  This  shows  us  that  we  have 
already  begun  the  special  work  which  conception-forming 
demands,  for: 

The  first  necessary  step  in  forming  new  conceptions, 
is  the  training  of  the  senses. 

In  most  of  our  conceptions,  the  imagination  plays  as  im- 
portant a  part  as  do  the  direct  senses.  Very  many  of  our 
new  conceptions  are  formed  from  things  we  read  or  from 
things  we  hear  others  say;  and,  since  all  such  conceptions 
are  formed  in  the  absence  of  the  things  conceived,  it  is 
clear  that  the  imagination  is  the  only  means  we  have  for 
bringing  these  things  before  the  mind.  And,  even  when 
we  form  conceptions  of  things  actually  present,  the  imagina- 
tion must  bring  before  the  mind  the  things  we  have  known 
which  are  somewhat  like  the  things  now  present,  in  order 
that  the  mind  may  see  the  difference  between  the  old  and 
the  new.  This  makes  it  evident  that : 

The  second  necessary  step  in  forming  new  conceptions, 
is  the  training  of  the  imagination. 

So  the  work  we  have  done  in  beginning  the  development 
of  the  imaginative  senses,  has  still  further  prepared  us  for 
the  task  of  conception-forming. 

It  is  quite  possible,  however,  for  the  student  to  train 
himself  to  receive  keen  sensations  and  even. to  reproduce 
vivid  imaginative  sensations,  and  yet  find  that  he  has  done 
little  or  nothing  toward  developing  ability  to  form  quick, 
accurate,  and  full  conceptions  of  things.  Practically  every- 


88  CONCEPTION 

thing  of  which  we  may  wish  to  form  a  conception,  has  a 
number  of  characteristics.  Each  material  thing  has  at  least 
size,  shape,  coloring,  density,  and  weight  of  its  own.  Since 
we  can  conceive  a  thing  only  by  coming  to  know  the  char- 
acteristics of  that  thing,  and  since  each  characteristic  will 
give  its  own  sense-impressions,  we  must  not  only  receive 
sensations  from  that  thing,  but  must  also  analyze  that  thing. 
To  analyze  is  to  pay  attention  to  the  separate  parts  of  a 
thing.  Only  by  paying  close  attention  to  the  separate  char- 
acteristics of  a  thing,  can  we  come  to  know  those  char- 
acteristics through  the  definite  sensations  received  from 
each,  hence,  only  in  this  way  can  we  really  conceive  a  thing. 
Therefore : 

The  third  essential  step  in  forming  a  conception  of 
anything,  is  to  analyze  that  thing,  to  discover  its  different 
characteristics  while  the  senses  are  acting  upon  it. 

Often  one  single  sense-impression  will  tell  us  several 
characteristics  of  a  thing.  For  this  reason,  we  must  not 
only  analyze  a  thing  to  discern  the  many  different  sensations 
we  get  from  it,  but  often  it  is  necessary  also  to  analyze  a 
separate  sensation,  and  to  pay  close  attention  to  the  different 
things  it  tells  us.  Suppose,  for  example,  that  you  desire  to 
form  a  conception  of  a  certain  bird.  The  voice  is  a 
prominent  characteristic  of  a  bird.  For  this  reason,  as  soon 
as  your  sense  of  hearing  gives  you  an  impression  of  this 
bird's  voice,  you  must  analyze  that  voice.  You  must  in- 
vestigate the  characteristics  of  that  voice.  Is  it  large  or 
small,  shrill  or  soft,  clear  and  ringing  or  muffled,  is  it  a 
twitter  or  a  call,  a  single  short  note  or  a  melody?  If  it 
is  a  single,  short  note,  with  what  frequency  is  the  note 
repeated?  If  it  is  a  melody,  what  is  its  rhythm?  When 


THE    SOURCES    OF    NEW    CONCEPTIONS  89 

you  have  paid  attention,  adequate  attention,  to  these  char- 
acteristics, separately,  then,  and  not  before,  will  you  have 
an  adequate  conception  of  that  voice.  When  you  have 
added  to  your  knowledge  of  the  bird's  voice,  a  clear  con- 
ception of  this  bird's  size,  shape,  coloring,  and  movements, 
then,  and  not  before,  will  you  have  a  conception  of  this 
bird,  that  is  full  enough  and  clear  enough  to  be  of  real 
service  in  speaking. 

When  you  have  made  such  an  analysis  as  we  have  just 
outlined,  of  one  bird,  it  will  do  two  things  for  you  in  your 
future  efforts  to  form  adequate  conceptions  of  birds,  (i) 
It  will  enable  you  to  recognize  that  bird  when  you  meet 
it  again;  and  (2)  it  will  enable  you  to  recognize  some 
points  of  similarity  between  that  bird  and  the  next  bird 
you  meet.  It  may  also  cause  you  to  recognize  points  of 
similarity  between  certain  characteristics  of  that  bird  and 
many  other  things  which  you  meet.  We  have  found  that 
the  forming  of  a  new  conception  involves  two  basic  acts. 
First  we  must  recognize  something  with  which  we  are 
familiar;  and,  secondly,  we  must  recognize  something  with 
which  we  are  unfamiliar.  This  means  that  as  soon  as  you 
have  found  a  new  bird,  you  must  analyze  it  as  thoroughly 
as  you  did  the  last  one  and  that,  while  you  pay  close  atten- 
tion to  its  separate  characteristics,  you  constantly  compare 
and  contrast  them  with  characteristics  you  have  known  be- 
fore, that  you  may  know  just  how  this  bird  differs  from 
the  other.  So: 

The  fourth  essential  step  in  developing  ability  to  form 
new  conceptions,  is  to  train  the  mind  to  make  keen  dis- 
tinctions between  things  which  have  similar  char- 
arteristics. 


QO  CONCEPTION 

Professor  Judd  of  Yale  University  (Genetic  Psychology, 
pp.  155-156)  emphasizes  the  great  value  of  sensory  training 
and  then  says :  "Sensory  training  takes  the  sensory  impres- 
sions after  they  are  received,  and,  first  of  all,  sharply  dis- 
criminates them,  and  then  organizes  them.  ...  It  is  train- 
ing in  discrimination  and  reaction  to  sensory  impressions." 
This  is  precisely  the  kind  of  training  the  senses  get,  in 
thorough  conception- forming;  so,  while  the  speaker  is  train- 
ing himself  to  discriminate  in  such  a  manner  as  to  form  the 
conceptions  he  needs  for  effective  speaking,  he  is  also  con- 
tinuing, in  the  best  possible  way,  the  training  of  both  his 
senses  and  his  imagination. 

This  brings  before  us  a  principle  of  the  mind  that  is 
much  emphasized  by  James,  Dewey,  Pyle,  and  other  modern 
psychologists.  The  principle  is,  that  we  come  to  know  by 
knowing.  That  is,  each  conception,  thoroughly  formed, 
makes  it  much  easier  to  form  other  conceptions  of  things 
related  to  the  first.  This  is  but  another  application  of  the 
biblical  declaration  "to  him  that  hath  shall  be  given."  The 
student  may,  at  first,  find  it  somewhat  difficult  to  form  a 
thorough  enough  conception  of  a  thing  to  enable  him  to 
give  a  good  description  of  that  thing.  As  soon  as  one 
clear  conception  is  formed,  however,  he  finds  that  like  begets 
like;  and  the  next  conception  of  something  similar  to  the 
first,  is  decidedly  easier.  Not  only  this,  but,  if  new  con- 
ceptions are  added  while  other  thorough  conceptions  of 
similar  things  are  still  fresh  in  the  mind,  the  number  of  like- 
nesses that  arise  in  the  mind,  tend  to  multiply  rapidly. 
Remember  that  the  discovery  of  a  likeness,  the  discovery 
of  something  we  recognize,  is  the  basis  of  conception,  and 
you  cannot  fail  to  see  what  this  means  in  your  development. 


THE  SOURCES  OF  NEW  CONCEPTIONS    9 1 

It  means  that  the  frequent  forming  of  clear  conceptions 
not  only  makes  it  much  easier  to  form  them,  but  also 
that  it  rapidly  widens  the  circle  of  your  possible  knowledge. 

This  principle  shows  us  that: 

The  fifth  essential  step  in  developing  ability  to  form 
quick  and  thorough  conceptions,  is  daily  practice  in  form- 
ing conceptions  of  things  as  closely  related  as  may  be. 

There  is  another  principle  of  mind  that  adds  decided 
interest  to  the  work  of  conception- forming  and  brings  de- 
cided benefits,  especially  to  the  intending  speaker.  The 
principle  is,  that  when  different  minds  are  forming  concep- 
tions of  similar  things,  the  conceptions  tend  to  be  fuller 
and  clearer.  For  example,  the  author  of  this  book  recently 
visited  a  friend  who  had  become  interested,  together  with 
several  other  persons,  in  the  study  of  birds.  This  friend 
declared  that  this  common  interest  in  observing  birds,  and 
the  resultant  exchange  of  notes  on  the  observations  made, 
had  taught  him  more  about  birds  in  a  few  weeks  than  he 
had  learned  in  all  his  life.  The  reasons  seem  to  be  these: 
I.  When  different  minds  are  observing  the  same  or  similar 
things,  each  mind  has  the  benefit  of  the  different  view- 
points of  the  other  observers,  so  that  each  of  his  own 
conceptions  tends  to  be  fuller.  2.  When  a  mind  realizes 
that  each  discovery  it  makes  is  to  be  put  to  immediate  use 
in  interesting  others,  and  also  that  each  discovery,  and 
the  statement  of  it,  must  be  accurate  else  the  inaccuracies 
will  be  quickly  detected,  this  tends  greatly  to  increase  the 
interest  in  the  work  and  to  make  the  work  more  thorough. 
It  is  obvious  that  this  practice  is  highly  beneficial  to  the 
speaker  who  wishes,  as  soon  as  possible,  to  bring  his  con- 
ceptions into  use  in  practical  speaking. 


92  CONCEPTION 

Practical  Speaking  on  Conceptions 

Let  the  student  now  test  the  conceptions  he  has  formed 
of  the  discussion  in  this  chapter,  and  at  the  same  time 
let  him  apply  his  conceptions  to  practical  speaking.  To 
do  so,  make  a  detailed  outline  of  the  chapter  and,  when 
this  is  complete,  lay  the  outline  before  you,  imagine  that 
you  are  before  the  class,  and  discuss,  aloud,  the  first  main 
division  of  the  subject.  Let  it  be*  your  own  discussion  and 
not  a  mere  report  of  what  is  said  in  the  text-book.  Use 
your  own  illustrations,  as  far  as  possible,  and  make  your 
own  applications  of  the  principle  discussed. 

When  you  have  completed  your  discussion  of  the  first 
division  of  the  subject,  think  it  over  to  see  if  you  have 
put  too  much  time  on  some  parts  of  it  and  have  failed  to 
develop  other  parts.  When  you  have  done  this,  discuss 
the  division  again,  aloud,  and  try  to  improve  on  your  former 
effort.  Treat  in  like  manner  every  division  of  the  chapter, 
separately,  and  then  discuss  the  chapter  as  a  whole.  Be 
prepared  to  discuss  before  the  class  any  one,  two,  or  three 
divisions  of  the  chapter  or  the  whole  chapter. 


CHAPTER  V 

DEVELOPMENT  OF  ABILITY  TO  FORM  CON- 
CEPTIONS 

HAVING  discovered  the  nature  of  conceptions  and  the 
elements  out  of  which  they  are  built,  the  student  of  speaking 
who  seriously  purposes  his  own  development  is  eager  to 
try  his  skill  in  forming  conceptions.  He  discerns  that  he 
must  master  the  art  of  conception-forming,  first,  that  he 
may  always  thoroughly  conceive  his  subject,  and,  hence,  be 
master  of  it,  whatever  the  subject  may  be;  secondly,  that 
whatever  he  says  to  an  audience  shall  be  accurate,  clear 
and  understandable;  thirdly,  that  he  may  be  able  always 
to  discern  and  use  the  elements  of  interest  in  a  subject, 
hence,  able  to  hold  the  attention  of  an  audience. 

The  Two  General  Classes  of  Conceptions 

There  are  two  distinct  classes  of  conceptions  which  the 
speaker  must  train  himself  to  build.  First,  conceptions  oi 
a  large  number  of  individual,  isolated  things  which  he  meets 
in  every-day  life,  without  any  particular  thought  of  using 
them  in  any  one,  certain  speech.  Secondly,  conceptions  of 
things  which  are  so  aptly  related  to  a  certain  subject  which 
he  expects  to  discuss,  that  he  feels  he  must  use  them  in 
that  speech. 

i.  Each  of  these  two  classes  calls  for  a  distinct  kind  of 
conception. 

93 


94   DEVELOPMENT  OF  ABILITY  TO  FORM  CONCEPTIONS 

When  we  form  conceptions  of  isolated  things,  that 
we  may  store  them  away  for  future  use,  it  is  necessary 
that  we  conceive  all  the  characteristics  by  which  we  know 
each  of  those  things  to  be  itself  and  nothing  else. 

This  is  the  very  work  that  a  speaker  destined  to  be 
successful,  will  do  every  day,  even  though  he  have  no 
definite  speech  in  preparation.  These  conceptions,  formed 
for  the  future,  will  constitute  his  stock  of  material,  out  of 
which  he  will  build  the  larger  part  of  any  speech  he  may 
make.  If  he  has  stocked  his  mind  with  this  material,  by 
the  time  he  comes  to  prepare  a  definite  speech  his  task 
will  not  be  so  much  a  hurried  search  for  things  to  say, 
but  rather  a  selection  of  the  best  from  the  store  he  has 
accumulated.  Since  each  of  the  conceptions  thus  stored 
away  for  future  use,  should  be  usable  for  various  subjects, 
it  is  easy  to  see  that  each  of  these  conceptions  must  embrace 
the  fullest  possible  knowledge  of  the  thing  conceived.  This 
is  why  this  class  of  conceptions  demands  that  the  speaker 
conceive  all  the  characteristics  by  which  he  recognises  a 
thing. 

2.  The  second  class  of  conceptions  which  a  speaker  must 
train  himself  to  form,  comprises  conceptions  of  the  various 
things  entering  into  a  definite  speech  which  he  is  preparing. 
A  careful  examination  of  the  use  to  which  he  intends  to 
put  conceptions  of  this  class,  will  show  the  speaker  that 
he  cannot  go  into  such  detail  as  is  required  when  forming 
conceptions  of  the  first  class.  In  each  conception  of  the 
first  class,  the  speaker's  effort  is  to  know  thoroughly  a  thing 
and  to  be  able  so  to  describe  that  thing  that  anyone  who 
hears  the  description  would  know  the  thing  by  the  descrip- 
tion. But  in  each -conception  of  the  second  class: 


THE   TWO   GENERAL   CLASSES   OF   CONCEPTIONS     95 

When  a  speaker  is  conceiving  things  for  their  use  in 
a  definite  speech,  he  is  concerned  only  with  finding  those 
characteristics  of  a  thing  which  best  illustrate  some  point 
in  the  theme  he  is  presenting. 

Therefore,  it  is  as  necessary  that  the  speaker  learn  to 
avoid  useless  details  in  conceptions  of  the  second  class, 
as  it  is  necessary  to  include  details  in  conceptions  of  the 
first  class. 

In  chapters  following  this  one,  we  shall  give  special  at- 
tention to  the  second  kind  of  conceptions,  those  entering 
into  a  definite  speech.  In  the  present  chapter,  we  shall  treat 
only  the  first  kind,  namely,  conceptions  of  things  observed 
in  every-day  life,  some  of  which  should  be  formed  every 
day.  We  have  already  observed  (p.  84!?.)  that  new  con- 
ceptions are  essential  to  growth.  This  fact  alone  is  enough 
to  make  each  of  us  resolve  to  form  at  least  one  or  two  new 
conceptions  every  day.  But  there  is  a  particular  reason  why 
the  speaker  must  do  so  if  he  is  to  have  full  success.  When 
the  time  comes  for  him  to  prepare  any  message  for  an 
audience,  his  task  is  very  much  like  the  task  of  a  builder 
who  must  construct  his  building  within  a  very  limited  time. 
How  does  the  builder  proceed?  Does  he  wait  till  the  time 
of  construction  and  then  try  to  find  his  material  while  he 
builds,  or  does  he  have  all  his  material  ready  to  hand,  so 
that  his  task  is  but  to  select  the  special  kind  he  needs  at 
each  moment?  We  know  that  if  the  builder  should  not 
follow  the  latter  method,  his  task  would  result  in  failure. 
Equally  much  does  the  task  of  the  speaker  demand  that 
his  mental  material  be  ready,  so  that,  in  the  preparation  of 
his  speech,  his  mind  shall  have  little  more  to  do  than  to 
select  the  thing  that  fits  the  need. 


96   DEVELOPMENT  OF  ABILITY  TO  FORM  CONCEPTIONS 

And  even  if  the  speaker  could  take  the  time,  while  con- 
structing a  speech,  to  form  all  the  conceptions  needed  in 
that  speech,  there  is  yet  a  greater  reason  why  he  should 
not  depend  alone  upon  conceptions  formed  at  such  a  time. 
This  reason  is  well  illustrated  in  a  certain  custom  prevalent 
among  some  managers  of  the  moving-picture  business. 
When  any  noted  accident  or  great  event  occurs,  these  man- 
agers hurry  their  cameras  there  to  get  the  clearest  possible 
picture  of  the  burning  building,  the  wreck,  or  whatever 
it  may  be.  Why  do  they  do  this?  Are  they  preparing 
a  picture  that  calls  for  this  exact  event?  Not  at  all.  The 
chances  are,  that  they  have  in  mind  no  present  use  for  such 
a  scene.  Then,  what  has  been  the  gain  ?  Some  night  when 
we  are  witnessing  a  famous  moving  picture,  we  are  amazed 
at  some  of  the  scenes  presented,  where  life  is  apparently 
recklessly  risked  and  property  is  sacrificed  without  apparent 
thought  of  cost.  We  do  not  realize  the  ease  with  which 
those  pictures,  stored  away  for  future  use,  have  been  in- 
serted in  the  story  and  have  given  these  marvellous  effects. 
The  speaker  will  do  well  to  learn  the  lesson.  More  striking 
illustrations,  of  any  theme  we  may  present,  are  happening 
from  time  to  time  in  actual  life,  than  we  can  ever  find 
while  preparing  a  speech.  If  we  have  formed  a  clear  and 
adequate  conception  of  everything  worthy  to  be  noted,  then 
we  shall  be  able  to  produce  effects  in  our  speaking  which 
otherwise  would  be  impossible. 

In  the  experiments  in  this  chapter,  we  attempt  to  do  noth- 
ing more  than  to  give  a  suggestive  start  to  the  work  that 
must  become  a  daily  habit  in  the  life  of  the  speaker  who 
would  grow  to  his  fullest  capacity  in  speaking. 

In  life,  we  form  our  conceptions  mostly  of  the  things 


FORMING  CONCEPTIONS  OF  CHARACTERS   97 

we  see  and  hear.  We,  therefore,  outline  only  those  experi- 
ments in  which  these  two  senses  take  the  leading  part.  It 
should  not  be  forgotten,  however,  that: 

The  more  senses  we  employ  in  studying  an  object, 
the  fuller  is  our  conception  of  that  object,  provided  only 
that  we  give  each  sense  employed  full  time  to  get  its 
information. 

Remember  the  suggestion  (on  p.  45)  that,  just  as  in  a 
court  of  law  the  truth  is  established,  when  possible,  by  the 
testimony  of  several  witnesses,  so  does  each  of  us  learn 
the  truth  (that  is,  each  of  us  forms  an  adequate  conception) 
through  the  testimony  of  several  senses,  the  witnesses  sup- 
plied us  by  Nature  through  which  to  prove  all  things. 

Forming  Conceptions  of  Characters 

Nowhere,  perhaps,  do  we  more  often  employ  various 
senses  in  quick  succession,  than  when  we  are  observing 
people,  and  forming  conceptions  of  them.  For  this  reason 
and  also  because  this  particular  effort  is  one  of  the  easiest 
to  be  found  with  which  to  begin  conception- forming,  and 
at  the  same  time  is  highly  interesting  and  beneficial,  let 
us  first  form  a  few  conceptions  of  characters.  Such  train- 
ing is  very  valuable  to  the  speaker  for  several  reasons. 
The  speaker  who  has  not  trained  himself  to  form  quick 
and  accurate  conceptions  of  men,  is  very  likely  to  make  a 
failure  of  his  speaking,  no  matter  how  well  he  may  know 
his  subject.  A  moment's  thought  will  show  us  the  reason 
for  this.  Unless  the  speaker  knows  the  nature  and  the 
point  of  view  of  anyone  to  whom  he  speaks,  how  can  he 
enter  into  that  person's  nature  and  take  his  point  of  view? 


98   DEVELOPMENT  OF  ABILITY  TO  FORM  CONCEPTIONS 

And  unless  the  speaker  can  take  the  point  of  view  of  an- 
other, how  ican  he  hope  to  persuade  the  listener,  since  per- 
suading means  causing  one  to  take  a  different  point  of  viezv? 
And,  since  the  highest  result  a  speaker  can  attain  is  to 
persuade  the  listener  to  accept  and  adopt  the  speaker's 
message,  it  is  clear  that  the  habit  of  forming  careful  and 
adequate  conceptions  of  people  may  become  a  major  source 
of  effective  speaking. 

The  author  has  found  that  it  helps  the  student  to  save 
time  and  also  to  form  more  accurate  conceptions,  to  let 
him  first  observe  efforts  that  other  students  have  made  in 
conception- forming.  For  this  reason,  before  outlining 
original  experiments,  we  give  two  student-descriptions  of 
experiments  they  have  performed  in  forming  conceptions 
of  characters. 

The  first  paper  is  inserted  because,  in  the  main,  it  is 
successful  and  may  serve  as  somewhat  of  a  guide  to  the 
beginning  speaker.  The  second  paper  is  given  to  show 
some  of  the  principal  things  to  be  avoided  in  this  kind  of 
conception-  forming. 

The  following  paper  was  submitted  by  a  young  man  with 
a  quick,  sensitive  nature,  who  had  seen  much  of  men, 
especially  in  business  pursuits.  He  says : 

I  hear  a  man  speak.  His  voice  is  of  moderate  depth  and 
seems  almost  expressionless.  He  never  lets  his  voice  fall,  yet 
pauses  at  the  end  of  every  two  or  three  words.  The  effect  is 
a  dull  monotony,  and  it  would  seem  that  the  man  speaking 
is  a  dull,  listless  sort  of  man.  Yet  there  is  an  indescribable 
sound  in  this  voice  that  seems  to  indicate  unfeeling,  dogged 
determination.  It  seems  to  tell  me  that  this  man  is  an  unfeeling, 
determined  egotist.  I  watch  hum  walk.  He  has  a  moderate 
gait  and  plants  his  feet  firmly  as  he  takes  even,  measured  steps. 
These  things  seem  to  indicate  controlled  strength  and  de- 


FORMING  CONCEPTIONS  OF  CHARACTERS   99 

termination.  His  shoulders  and  head  are  thrown  back  and 
his  head  is  carried  on  one  side.  These  characteristics  seem 
to  indicate  self-esteem,  disregard  for  others,  and  self-confidence. 
I  notice  that  he  is  looking  at  the  ground.  This  shows  that 
his  thought  is  not  going  out  to  anything  around  him;  he  is 
lost  in  thought  of  self.  He  methodically  twirls  his  mustache. 
This,  too,  shows  that  he  is  thinking  of  his  own  appearance. 
He  wears  a  dark  suit  of  good  material  and  a  black  hat.  His 
apparel  might  denote  modesty,  but  coupled  with  other  things 
already  observed,  it  rather  seems  to  emphasize  his  lack  of 
feeling.  I  see  his  face.  His  high  forehead  indicates  intellect. 
His  cold,  dull,  narrow,  grey  eyes  denote  selfishness  and  lack 
of  feeling,  and  his  long,  thin  nose  seems  to  emphasize  these 
traits.  His  thin,  tightly  compressed  lips  indicate  determination. 
He  smiles,  but  the  smile  seems  forced  and  unnatural.  He  talks 
to  me,  but  looks  at  the  ground  or  the  sky,  with  only  an  occa- 
sional glance  at  me.  From  this  I  conclude  that  he  is  under- 
handed and  deceitful.  It  is  very  evident  that  he  is  attempting 
to  be  pleasant,  but  it  all  seems  forced  and  insincere.  When 
I  sum  up  the  testimony  he  has  given  me  of  his  character,  I 
find  my  first  opinion  of  him  confirmed  and  strengthened.  He  is 
an  unfeeling,  determined,  methodical,  intellectual,  selfish,  deceit- 
ful, insincere  egotist. 

This  is  a  terrible  charge  against  the  poor  victim  who 
unwittingly  walked  into  this  observer's  psychological  labora- 
tory. Probably  the  man  had  some  redeeming  traits  which 
were  not  observed,  but  so  far  as  the  diagnosis  goes,  it  is 
a  careful  and  commendable  piece  of  work. 

Before  presenting  the  next  paper,  which,  as  we  have 
said,  is  submitted  for  its  faults  and  not  for  its  merits,  let 
us  record  a  caution  or  two.  In  building  conceptions  of 
characters,  the  speaker  must  exercise  great  care  to  avoid 
descending  to  mere  loose  description.  He  must  exercise 
even  greater  care  to  avoid  describing  things  sensed  by  only 
one  sense,  without  proving  his  impressions  through  the 
witness  of  other  senses.  The  following  paper  shows  the 
bad  results  from  neglecting  these  cautions.  The  author 
of  this  paper  begins  by  saying: 


100  DEVELOPMENT  OF  ABILITY  TO  FORM  CONCEPTIONS 

I  see  a  woman  walking  along  with  a  careless,  shuffling  gait. 
She  hardly  lifts  her  feet  from  the  sidewalk  as  she  scuffs  along, 
and  her  shoes  have  a  dusty,  rundown-at-the-heel  look.  A  fringe 
of  her  hair  hangs  over  her  collar  at  the  back,  and  the  back 
of  her  waist  gapes  open  where  a  button  is  missing.  Her  dark 
skirt  is  carelessly  fastened  to  her  waist  with  an  old,  colored 
leather  belt,  and  from  under  the  belt  protrudes  the  end  of  a 
safety-pin.  On  the  sides,  her  waist  has  pulled  out  from  its 
belt-fastening,  and  the  rough  edges  of  the  bottom  of  the  waist 
can  plainly  be  seen.  As  my  gaze  travels  downward,  I  see  a 
ragged  ruffle  of  a  striped  petticoat  hanging  in  plain  view  from 
under  her  dark  skirt,  -he  ruffle  is  already  black  from  having 
dragged  in  the  dust.  From  these  things,  I  infer  that  this  is 
an  extremely  careless,  untidy,  uncleanly  character. 

Some  rather  close  observing  has  been  done  by  the 
authoress  of  this  paper,  but  the  work  ended  in  mere  descrip- 
tion, a  description,  furthermore,  of  what  the  authoress  of 
this  paper  saw,  unsupported  by  the  impressions  of  any  other 
sense.  More  than  that,  it  is  a  description  of  only  what 
the  observer  saw  in  apparel.  Safe  and  sure  conceptions 
cannot  be  built  in  this  way.  Such  a  method  leads  to  all 
sorts  of  hasty,  unwarranted  conclusions. 

As  soon  as  the  young  woman  who  wrote  this  paper  saw 
some  feature  of  the  apparel  studied,  which  she  thought  in- 
dicated the  character  of  the  person  observed,  she  should 
have  proved  or  disproved  her  inference  by  the  testimony 
of  some  of  her  other  senses.  That  is,  she  should  have 
listened  to  the  woman's  voice,  or  she  should  have  let  her 
own  sense  of  motion  seek  for  the  corresponding  char- 
acteristics in  the  woman's  movements,  as  she  had  discerned 
in  her  costume.  She  should  have  looked  into  the  woman's 
face  to  discover  whether  the  facial  expression  also  seemed 
to  tell  of  carelessness  or  whether  it  marked  something  quite 
different.  No  note  is  made  of  how  this  woman's  voice 


FORMING  CONCEPTIONS  OF  CHARACTERS   IOI 

would  sound,  how  her  face  looks,  how  she  carries  her 
head,  her  hands,  or  her  body.  The  result  is  that  we  do  not 
know  this  woman.  This  means  that  no  conception  has  been 
built. 

For  a  number  of  reasons,  such  work  as  that  done  in 
the  last  paper  quoted  above,  should  be  avoided.  In  the 
first  place,  such  work  will  give  us  false  notions  of  people 
and  of  life.  The  young  lady  who  wrote  that  paper  is  wholly 
unwarranted  in  concluding  that  the  person  she  observed  is 
merely  careless  and  uncleanly.  That  woman's  hands  may 
be  paralyzed  so  that  she  is  unable  to  attend  to  her  apparel. 
Our  observer  can  hardly  have  seen  her  hands.  The  woman 
may  be  blind,  hence  unconscious  of  her  appearance.  Our 
would-be  student  of  character  did  not  think  to  observe  the 
eyes.  The  unfortunate  woman  may  be  so  poor  that  she 
must  wear  cast-off  and  ill-fitting  garments,  and  so  hard- 
worked  that  her  appearance  is  due  to  exhaustion.  Our 
critic  forgot  to  look  into  the  face,  the  very  "sign-board" 
of  one's  attitude  toward  life.  "By  many  witnesses  shall 
the  truth  be  established."  Let  us  get  the  testimony  of 
many  witnesses,  our  senses,  that  we  may  know  the  character 
observed  and  that  we  may  enable  others  to  know. 

Another  vital  reason  why  students  of  speaking  should 
avoid  incomplete  work  like  that  in  the  last  paper,  is  that 
it  does  so  little  to  build  up  speech-power.  Whoever  allows 
himself  to  study  anything  observed  through  only  one  sense, 
fails  to  come  into  close  sympathy  with  that  thing.  He  soon 
comes  to  hold  himself  in  a  critical  attitude  toward  the  thing 
studied.  In  a  purely  critical  attitude,  it  is  "almost  impossible 
to  see  the  real  truth. 

It  is  only  when  we  come  to  realize  how  things  are 


IO2  DEVELOPMENT  OF  ABILITY  TO  FORM  CONCEPTIONS 

affecting  the  person  observed,  that  we  begin  to  be  af- 
fected by  that  person. 

And  certainly  the  person  whose  character  we  are  describ- 
ing, must  have  some  effect  on  us  if  we  are  to  have  any 
effect  on  those  to  whom  we  speak  our  conceptions.  So, 
if  we  wish  to  build  effective  speech  out  of  character-study, 
we  must  employ  as  many  senses  as  are  necessary  to  get 
ourselves  into  thorough  sympathy  with  the  persons  observed. 

Experiments  in  Building  Conceptions  of  Characters 

With  the  helps  given  in  the  papers  and  criticisms  above, 
observe,  separately,  three  different  persons.  Let  each  person 
studied  be  one  of  decided  individuality.  Note  closely  every 
peculiarity  of  costume,  of  voice,  of  facial  expression,  of 
walk,  of  carriage  of  body,  head  and  limbs,  which  seems 
to  tell  you  the  character  of  the  person  studied.  As  soon 
as  you  think  you  have  discovered  some  characteristic  in 
the  nature  of  the  person  observed,  as  shown  by  some 
peculiarity  in  his  appearance,  at  once  try  to  prove  or  dis- 
prove your  conclusion.  Do  this  by  employing  some  of  your 
other  senses.  For  example,  if  you  see  something  in  his 
apparel  which  you  think  shows  his  character,  listen  to  his 
voice  to  see  if  you  find  anything  to  support  your  observa- 
tion. Also  use  your  sense  of  motion  to  determine  whether 
anything  in  his  movements  agrees  with  what  you  thought 
you  saw  in  his  apparel. 

During  your  entire  observation,  imagine  a  friend  stand- 
ing beside  you,  and,  to  this  imaginary  friend,  describe  each 
sensation  you  receive  from  the  person  observed,  and  tell 
what  trait  of  character  each  sensation  seems  to  indicate. 


EXPERIMENTS   IN   BUILDING   CONCEPTIONS    1 03 

If  a  character  is  studied  on  the  street,  where  it  is  not  pos- 
sible for  you  to  talk  aloud  to  an  imaginary  friend,  keep 
the  same  mental  attitude  as  if  you  were  talking  aloud. 
That  is,  imagine  the  friend  to  be  there  beside  you,  and 
-feel  that  you  are  conceiving  each  trait  of  character  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  showing  it  to  the  listener.  Then,  as  soon 
as  you  can  get  back  to  your  room,  again  imagine  the  person 
studied  to  before  you  and  the  imaginary  listener  beside 
you,  and  again  build  your  whole  conception  of  that  char- 
acter, while  you  tell  your  observations  aloud. 

This  principle  of  associating  with  everything  studied 
a  listener  to  whom  you  describe  a  thing  (imaginatively, 
at  least)  while  you  study  it,  is  the  very  key-stone  of 
rapid  growth  in  natural  speaking. 

As  soon  as  a  thorough  conception  of  a  character  has  been 
built,  you  should  practice,  orally,  a  number  of  times, 
re-building  it;  the^i  write  down  your  conception  of  that 
character.  Submit  these  written  conceptions  in  class,  and 
be  prepared  to  re-build  them  orally  before  the  class. 

Forming  Conceptions  of  Miscellaneous  Things 

We  have  found  that  conceptions  of  characters  constitute 
an  important  part  of  effective  speaking.  It  is  apparent, 
however,  that  the  speaker  will  be  required  to  form  many 
more  conceptions  of  other  things,  miscellaneous  things.  For 
this  reason,  we  have  outlined  three  experiments  in  forming 
conceptions  of  this  nature,  to  give  the  student  of  speech 
a  helpful  start. 

We  follow  the  plan  suggested  above.  Before  outlining 
the  experiments  to  be  performed,  we  give  the  intending 


104  DEVELOPMENT  OF  ABILITY  TO  FORM  CONCEPTIONS 

speaker  an  opportunity  to  see  some  of  the  successes  and 
failures  other  students  have  made  in  forming  conceptions 
of  miscellaneous  things. 

The  first  paper  to  be  quoted  was  submitted  by  a  young 
man  whose  active  sense  of  motion  aids  him  remarkably. 
It  not  only  puts  him  in  close  sympathy  with  the  sound  heard, 
it  also  makes  his  comparisons  and  contrasts  of  this  sound 
with  other  sounds,  easy  and  effective.  The  author  of  this 
paper  says: 

I  listen.  I  hear  a  heavy,  rumbling  sound.  It  isn't  very 
loud  nor  very  faint.  It  is  getting  louder  all  the  time.  It  is 
coming  down  the  street.  I  listen  carefully.  I  hear,  within 
this  general  sound,  many  sharp  sounds,  as  if  two  hard  materials 
were  striking  against  each  other.  It  seems  like  iron  striking 
stone,  only  there  is  no  ring  to  it.  Each  of  these  sounds  is 
metallic  and  yet  it  is  muffled  until  it  is  flat  and  hollow.  It 
is  horse-shoes  striking  the  pavement.  There  are  many  of  these 
sounds.  By  their  frequency  and  the  broken  rhythm,  I  know 
there  are  two  horses.  Now,  moving  along  with  the  horses, 
I  hear  a  heavy,  rattling  noise.  It  must  come  from  some  kind 
of  vehicle  these  horses  are  drawing,  since  it  moves  with  them. 
But  what  kind  of  vehicle  is  it?  It  can't  be  a  carnage.  A 
carriage  seldom  rattles,  and  when  it  does,  the  sound  is  much 
lighter  than  this.  Now  this  heavy,  rattling  sound  seems  hollow. 
It  seems  as  if  a  large,  hollow  box  with  a  loose  lid  were  being 
bumped  along.  It  is  a  wagon.  The  wheels  must  be  wide; 
for  a  narrow  wheel  could  not  make  that  heavy,  blunt  noise 
rolling  along  on  the  bricks.  I  hear  two  of  these  heavy,  blunt 
sounds  made  by  the  wheels.  They  seem  to  come  from  two 
different  places,  suggesting  that  it  is  a  very  long  wagon  with 
the  wheels  some  distance  apart.  I  conceive  it  to  be  a  large, 
long,  heavy  wagon  whose  box  is  empty  arid  covered  with  a  loose 
covering.  I  think  it  is  an  empty,  covered,  garbage  wagon, 
driven  slowly.  I  look  out  my  window  and  find  my  conception 
correct. 

The  work  in  the  above  paper,  is  worthy  of  praise.  It  is 
a  good,  strong,  clear  conception,  sensitively  realized,  and 
told  in  short,  simple  sentences. 


CONCEPTIONS   IN   MISCELLANEOUS   THINGS     IO5 

The  following  paper  is  inserted  here  mainly  for  the 
purpose  of  pointing  out  its  faults,  that  the  student  may 
avoid  them.  Here  it  is : 

I  hear  a  loud,  whirring,  humming,  singing  sound  like  that 
of  a  planing-mill.  I  hear  the  escape  of  steam  from  the  boilers, 
the  chug,  chug  of  the  engine,  and  the  squeaking  of  the  belts. 
But  the  whirring,  humming,  singing  sound  is  too  steady  and 
not  loud  enough  to  be  that  of  a  planing-mill.  It  sounds  like 
a  number  of  dynamos.  This  sound,  as  well  as  the  escape  of 
steam,  the  chugging  of  the  engine,  and  the  squeaking  of  the 
belts,  enables  me  to  identify  this  noise  as  that  of  a  power-plant. 

This  attempt  is  full  of  faults.  In  the  first  place,  the 
author  of  this  paper  is  insincere  in  his  work.  He  pretends 
to  be  making  an  effort  to  identify  a  sound,  when  there  is 
abundant  evidence  that  he  is  really  making  no  such  effort. 
If  he  went  so  near  to  the  source  of  the  sound  studied, 
that  he  could  hear  the  "squeaking  of  the  belts,"  the  impres- 
sions then  made  on  his  senses  of  sight,  location,  and  motion, 
as  well  as  those  made  on  his  sense  of  hearing,  were  so 
strong,  that  he  instantly  knew  that  he  was  observing  a 
power-plant.  There  was  no  incentive  to  try  to',  discover 
and  make  sure  what  the  thing  was.  Hence,  all  his  com- 
parisons and  contrasts  are  at  once  forced  and  unconvincing. 

In  the  second  place,  the  author  of  this  paper  makes  no 
honest  effort  to  identify  the  smaller  sounds  making  up  the 
whole,  complex  sound  studied.  This  leads  him  to  jump 
to  all  sorts  of  unwarranted  conclusions.  For  example,  when 
he  says :  "I  hear  the  escape  of  the  steam  from  the  boilers," 
we  are  suddenly  conscious  of  the  fact  that  we,  as  listeners, 
have  been  told  nothing  by  which  to  recognize  either  steam 
or  boilers.  The  one  who  is  pretending  to  conceive  these 
sounds,  should  first  bring  them  before  us  by  showing  us 


IO6  DEVELOPMENT  OF  ABILITY  TO  FORM  CONCEPTIONS 

the  pecularities  of  the  sounds  by  which  he  recognizes  them 
as  sounds  of  steam  from  boilers.  Again  when  he  says: 
"It  sounds  like  a  number  of  dynamos,"  what  effort  has 
he  made  to  help  the  listener  recognize  dynamos?  None. 
Instead  of  hastily  determining  that  the  sounds  are  the 
sounds  of  dynamos,  he  should  have  taken  great  care  to  tell 
us  the  peculiar  characteristics  of  the  sounds,  how  they  differ 
from  the  hum  of  other  machinery,  etc.  When  this  student 
Concludes  by  saying  that  these  things  enable  him  to  "iden- 
tify this  noise  as  that  of  a  power-plant,"  we  are  very  sure 
that  they  have  not  enabled  us  to  identify  anything.  Such 
careless  work  as  this  cannot  be  too  strongly  condemned  or 
too  carefully  avoided.  It  will  diminish  the  power  of  think- 
ing instead  of  building  it;  it  will  dissipate  the  imagination 
instead  of  developing  it. 

We  have  now  examined  one  good  and  one  faulty  con- 
ception which  students  have  formed,  with  the  sense  of  hear- 
ing doing  the  primary  part  of  the  work.  We  pointed  out 
above  that  most  of  our  conceptions  in  life  are  formed 
when  either  the  ear  or  the  eye  is  taking  the  lead  in  the 
observation  that  is  being  made.  Therefore,  before  we  pro- 
ceed to  perform  our  own  experiments,  we  shall  examine  two 
conceptions  which  students  have  formed,  of  miscellaneous 
things,  when  the  eye  did  the  primary  work. 

The  first  paper  below  was  submitted  by  a  young  man 
who  has  an  active  imagination  but  whose  imagination, 
through  bad  use,  had  become  very  fanciful  and  uncontrolled 
before  he  began  the  study  of  speaking.  Because  of  this 
condition  of  his  imagination,  when  he  entered  the  class  in 
the  Psychology  of  Speech,  he  discriminated  very  poorly, 
and  all  his  conceptions  were  inadequate.  At  the  end  of 


CONCEPTIONS   IN   MISCELLANEOUS   THINGS     1 07 

eight  weeks,  when  he  submitted  this  paper,  his  ability  to 
form  clear  conceptions,  had  remarkably  improved.  Here 
is  his  paper : 

I  look  at  an  imposing  building  some  distance  from  me.  From 
its  shape,  size,  proportions,  the  sizes  and  locations  of  its  win- 
dows, and  the  size  and  shape  of  its  porches,  I  recognize  it  as 
a  residence.  Its  walls  are  a  solid,  dark  red  color;  yet,  as  I 
look  more  closely,  I  see  that  two  sets  of  lines,  one  set  vertical 
and  the  other  horizontal,  divide  the  wall  into  small  sections 
about  twice  as  wide  as  they  are  tall.  These  are  the  char- 
acteristic features  of  a  brick  wall,  but  a  brick  wall  usually 
has  a  different  color  in  the  lines  of  mortar  between  the  bricks. 
The  lines  in  the  wall  before  me  are  red  like  the  rest  of  the 
wall  only  a  little  darker  red.  I  have  seen  imitation  brick 
walls  made  of  sheets  of  metal  lined  like  brick  walls  and  painted 
a  solid  red  color.  Is  this  building  made  of  imitation  brick? 
No,  for  I  remember  that  the  uneven  light  reflected  from  the  metal 
sheets  after  they  are  nailed  on,  always  shows  the  small  waves 
in  that  kind  of  a  wall.  The  light  comes  evenly  from  all  parts 
of  the  wall  before  me;  and,  as  I  look  more  closely,  I  recognize 
the  rich  red  and  the  smooth,  cool  appearance  which  I  have 
seen  only  from  pressed  brick.  It  is  a  residence  built  of  pressed 
brick  and  laid  with  red  mortar. 

The  above  paper  contains  some  small  faults,  e.g.,  a  little 
tediousness  in  giving  details ;  but  in  the  main  it  is  a  true  and 
clear  conception. 

Let  us  now  examine  a  student  effort  that  failed  to  build 
a  conception  through  the  sense  of  sight.  The  author  of 
the  following  paper  not  only  failed,  but  he  failed  in  what 
might  be  called  a  typical  way  since  so  many  other  students 
make  the  same  kind  of  failure.  This  student  says: 

I  look  at  a  book-case.  It  stands  on  four  legs  about  six  inches 
high.  It  is  brown  in  color.  It  stands  about  six  feet  high 
and  is  about  four  feet  wide.  It  has  two  glass  doors.  It  con- 
tains six  shelves  on  which  are  about  four  hundred  volumes. 
The  case  is  made  of  heavy  wood  and  seems  very  solid. 


108  DEVELOPMENT  OF  ABILITY  TO  FORM  CONCEPTIONS 

This  last  paper  illustrates,  perhaps,  the  commonest  of 
all  errors  which  students  commit  when  they  attempt  to 
build  conceptions.  This  is  a  mere,  loose  description,  not 
conception-building  at  all.  In  his  last  sentence,  the  author 
made  a  weak,  little  effort  in  the  direction  of  a  conception, 
but  did  nothing  to  build  or  finish  even  that.  Such  loose 
descriptions  as  this  is  can  be  given  without  any  great  effort 
to  discover  or  to  prove  the  identity  of  the  thing  examined ; 
but: 

To  build  a  conception  requires  us  to  discover,  through 
the  sensations  we  receive  from  the  thing  examined,  what 
the  very  inner  nature  of  that  thing  is,  and  above  all,  how 
we  recognize  it. 

Experiments  in  Forming  Miscellaneous  Conceptions 

With  the  help  of  the  quoted  papers  and  the  criticisms 
given  above,  the  intending  speaker  should  now  be  able,  with 
pleasure  and  success,  to  perform  experiments  in  forming 
conceptions  of  miscellaneous  things.  Three  experiments  are 
to  be  outlined.  The  first  one  is  in  sound,  where  the  ear 
must  do  the  initial  work.  The  second,  in  sight,  where  the 
eye  must  play  the  leading  part.  The  third  experiment  is 
designed  to  help  the  speaker  to  apply  the  work  done  in  the 
two  preceding  experiments,  to  practical  speaking.  It  will 
be  found  easiest  and  most  profitable  to  perform  these  three 
experiments  on  the  same  day. 

I.  As  the  first  experiment  in  forming  conceptions  of 
miscellaneous  things,  listen  to  some  sound  outside  your 
room.  Pay  close  attention  to  each  characteristic  of  the 
sound  studied.  Imagine  that  a  friend  is  standing  beside 


EXPERIMENTS    IN   FORMING   CONCEPTIONS 

you,  and,  the  instant  you  receive  a  sensation  that  tells  you 
any  one  characteristic  of  the  sound  listened  to,  describe  it 
to  your  imaginary  friend.  As  soon  as  you  think  you  have 
discovered  what  the  sound  is  and  from  what  source,  make 
sure  that  you  are  not  mistaken,  by  noting  keenly  the  differ- 
ence between  this  sound  and  others  so  like  it  that  they 
might  easily  be  mistaken  for  it.  For  example,  if  you  think 
the  sound  is  made  by  a  vehicle  of  any  kind,  make  clear 
to  your  friend  just  what  sensations  of  sound,  location,  and 
motion,  give  you  that  impression.  Then,  make  clear  just 
what  kind  of  vehicle  it  is.  Make  clear  what  sensations  tell 
you  this. 

When  you  have  formed  a  clear  and  adequate  conception 
of  the  sound  studied,  practice  re-building  this  conception 
several  times  while  you  tell  it  aloud  to  the  imaginary  friend 
beside  you,  as  if  you  were  doing  it  solely  to  help  this  friend 
identify  the  sound  to  which  you  now  imagine  you  are  listen- 
ing. When  this  has  been  done,  write  your  conception,  to 
be  submitted  in  class.  Also  be  prepared  to  re-build  the 
conception,  orally,  before  the  class. 

Most  of  the  sounds  listened  to  are  likely  to  be  moving 
sounds.  Many  of  them  will  move  rapidly.  For  this  reason, 
you  will  probably  find  it  necessary  to  experiment  with 
several  of  these  moving  sounds  before  you  find  yourself 
able  to  form  a  full  and  satisfactory  conception  of  any  one 
sound  in  the  very  short  time  you  hear  it.  It  will  also 
require  intense  concentration  and  mental  rapidity.  These 
things  sometimes  cause  the  speaker  to  withdraw  himself 
from  the  listener  and  speak  his  conceptions  as  if  his  only 
task  were  to  receive  sense-impressions.  To  overcome  this 
tendency,  never  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  your  principal 


I IO  DEVELOPMENT  OF  ABILITY  TO  FORM  CONCEPTIONS 

effort  in  conceiving  a  thing  should  be  to  make  real  to  the 
listener  the  thing  you  are  conceiving. 

An  audience  is  able  to  see  any  object  a  speaker  may 
have  in  mind,  only  in  proportion  as  the  speaker  shows  the 
audience  the  characteristics  of  that  object  by  which  he 
recognizes  it.  Then  give  yourself  the  benefit  of  keeping 
a  listener  in  mind,  and  speak  aloud  while  you  build  every 
conception ;  and  the  habit  of  speech  thus  formed  will  rapidly 
develop  your  ability  to  do  the  same  thing  for  the  audience 
that  you  have  been  doing  for  the  imaginary  listener. 

2.  As  the  second  experiment  in  forming  conceptions  of 
miscellaneous  things,  look  at  some  object  of  more  or  less 
striking  appearance.  Let  it  be  something  of  various  shapes, 
colors,  and  materials.  Pay  close  attention  to  all  the  sensa- 
tions which  enable  you  to  recognize  the  object  and  the 
materials  in  it.  If  you  see,  in  the  object  studied,  such 
close  resemblances  to  something  else,  that  you  might  easily 
mistake  this  thing  for  that  other  thing,  make  it  clear  to  a 
friend  whom  you  imagine  to  be  beside  you,  just  how  you 
know  that  this  object  is  not  the  other  object  which  it 
resembles.  Make  it  clear  what  sensations  tell  you  the  points 
of  difference.  Get  as  much  help  as  possible  from  your 
senses  of  touch,  location,  and  motion. 

The  sense  of  touch  is  exceedingly  helpful  in  forming 
adequate  conceptions  and  also  in  enabling  the  speaker  to 
reproduce  his  conceptions  imaginatively  later  in  speech.  As 
we  found  in  the  study  of  Sensation,  this  sense  is  the  only 
means  we  have  by  which  to  come  into  real  touch  with  the 
things  about  which  we  speak. 

As  soon  as  you  have  given  so  clear  and  vigorous  an  oral 
description  of  the  process  by  which  you  form  your  concep- 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  FORMING  CONCEPTIONS    III 

tion  of  the  object  looked  at,  that  no  one  who  could  hear 
you  could  fail  to  recognize  the  thing  you  describe,  imme- 
diately write  your  conception.  Then  practice  telling  your 
conception  aloud  several  times,  while  you  re-build  it,  with 
the  object  you  are  conceiving  before  you  only  in  imagina- 
tion. As  you  do  so,  be  constantly  on  your  guard  not  to 
let  the  thing  which  you  imagine  before  you,  slip  away  to 
the  distance.  Keep  the  object  you  are  conceiving  as  near 
you  in  imagination  as  it  was  when  you  actually  saw  it,  and 
constantly  imagine  a  friend  beside  you  who  is  intensely 
interested  in  following  with  you  each  act  of  your  senses 
and  of  .your  mind  as  you  identify  the  thing  observed.  Be 
ready  to  do  this  before  the  class. 

3.  For  the  third  experiment,  apply  the  training  you  have 
just  received  in  experiments  I  and  2,  to  more  practical 
speaking.  Suppose  that  you  are  before  a  certain  audience 
making  a  plea  for  national  defense.  Suppose  that  you  have 
argued  as  strongly  as  you  can,  that  we  are  absolutely  un- 
prepared to  repel  any  foe  that  might  attack  us.  Feel  that 
you  have  done  all  you  can,  through  argument,  to  make 
your  audience  realize  the  disaster  a  war  would  bring  to  us 
in  our  helpless  condition. 

Begin  your  experiment  where  you  determine  to  drive 
home  all  you  have  said,  by  building  a  brief,  graphic  con- 
ception of  a  peaceful,  happy  home,  and  then  a  conception 
of  that  home  demolished  by  the  hand  of  war.  Imagine  this 
peaceful  home  only  a  short  distance  before  you  as  you 
address  your  audience,  and  build  your  conception  of  it 
as  you  see  it  before  you.  While  you  show  this  home  to 
the  audience,  imagine  that  you  hear  sounds  approaching  in 
the  distance.  Build  a  conception  of  the  approach  of  an 


112  DEVELOPMENT  OF  ABILITY  TO  FORM  CONCEPTIONS 

army.  End  your  picture  by  building  a  conception  of  that 
home  in  ruins  after  the  army  has  passed.  Condense  the 
entire  double  conception  to  about  three  minutes.  Practice 
re-building  this  whole  double  conception  several  times  while 
you  tell  it  aloud  to  an  imaginary  audience.  Be  prepared 
to  re-build  it  orally  before  the  class. 

Daily  Practice  in  Conception-Forming 

As  we  have  said  above,  the  student  must  put  into  daily 
practice  the  principles  of  conception- forming,  if  he  hopes 
to  become  an  effective  speaker.  There  are  three  general 
and  fundamental  requirements  which  every  successful 
speaker  must  meet.  I.  He  must  have  a  large  fund  of  clear 
and  ready  ideas.  2.  He  must  have  a  large  fund  of  words 
by  which  to  express  his  ideas.  3.  He  must  so  frequently 
practice  using  his  ideas  and  his  words  in  actual  speech, 
that  they  are  accurate,  and  ready,  when  needed. 

To  accomplish  these  three  things  well,  the  speaker  must 
make  each  of  the  three  help  the  other  two.  Ideas  are  never 
so  accurate  as  they  should  be,  until  the  speaker  has  the 
exact  words  to  represent  these  ideas.  For  this  reason, 
whenever  the  speaker  finds  anything  so  interesting  that  he 
feels  he  might  sometime  use  it,  he  should  form  a  clear  and 
accurate  conception  of  that  thing  the  moment  he  experiences 
it.  Then,  as  soon  as  he  can  get  to  his  room,  he  should 
describe  his  conception  to  an  imaginary  friend  or  audience. 
Whenever  he  hears  or  reads  a  word  the  meaning  of  which 
is  not  perfectly  clear,  the  speaker  should  go  to  the  dic- 
tionary at  the  earliest  possible  moment,  and,  by  combining 
the  dictionary  definition  with  his  past  experience,  through 


DAILY   PRACTICE   IN   CONCEPTION-FORMING       113 

an  active  use  of  his  imagination,  should  form  a  clear  con- 
ception of  the  thing  for  which  that  word  stands.  Then, 
as  soon  as  possible,  he  should  describe  that  conception 
orally  and  in  writing.  Only  by  combining,  in  this  way, 
words  with  ideas  and  ideas  with  words,  and  by  forming 
accurate  conceptions  of  both,  can  the  speaker  hope  to  have 
an  adequate  fund  of  either  ideas  or  words.  And  only  by 
combining  with  all  conceptions  he  forms,  immediate  practice 
of  those  conceptions  in  speaking,  can  the  speaker  hope  to 
have  a  ready  and  facile  use  of  ideas  and  words. 

When  a  student  has  made  a  habit  of  such  daily  practice 
as  we  have  outlined,  if  he  has  a  good  general  education — 
a  thing  indispensable  to  the  speaker  of  to-day — and  if  he 
takes  advantage  of  every  opportunity  to  hear  good  speakers 
and  to  read  good  speeches  and  other  good  literature,  and 
to  form  accurate  conceptions  of  everything  he  hears  and 
reads,  he  will  have  gone  far  toward  the  completion  of  the 
general  preparation  which  effective  speaking  demands. 

Much  special  preparation  for  any  definite  speech  will  still 
remain.  This  we  shall  treat  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VI 

CONCEPTION-FORMING   IN   ORIGINAL   SPEECH 
Four  Classes  of  Conceptions 

IF  the  intending  speaker  has  laid  the  foundation  for  his 
work  outlined  in  the  last  chapter,  it  is  now  time  to  consider 
the  special  preparation  required  by  each  individual  speech. 

The  conceptions  which  the  speaker  must  form  in  pre- 
paring any  message  for  an  audience,  are  of  four  general 
classes.  I.  He  must  conceive  an  appropriate  subject.  II. 
He  must  conceive  a  definite  purpose  in  presenting  this  sub- 
ject. III.  He  must  conceive  a  definite  plan  for  presenting 
this  subject.  IV.  He  must  conceive  the  definite  preparation 
required  by  this  subject,  this  purpose,  and  this  plan. 

I.  Conceiving  an  Appropriate  Subject 

Let  us  first  consider  the  Conception  of  an  Appropriate 
Subject.  How  often  we  hear  such  remarks  as  these:  "I 
have  been  asked  to  give  a  talk  next  week,  and  I  can't  think 
what  to  talk  about";  "I  have  been  pjaced  on  the  program 
for  an  oration,  I  wish  you  would  give  me  a  good  subject"; 
"Won't  you  please  suggest  a  list  of  good  subjects  for  me 
to  use  in  the  class  in  Extempore  Speaking  this  semester?" 
Even  a  little  careful  thinking  will  cause  the  speaker  to 
realize  that  the  best  subject  for  him,  the  subject  in  which 
he  will  realize  his  best  success,  cannot  be  found  in  this 

114 


CONCEIVING  AN  APPROPRIATE   SUBJECT      11$ 

manner.  For  years,  the  author  of  this  book  has  carefully 
observed  the  success  of  speeches  made  on  subjects  chosen 
in  either  the  arbitrary  or  the  haphazard  way  suggested  by 
the  remarks  we  have  just  quoted,  and  in  practically  every 
case  such  a  speech  was  a  failure.  These  observations  have 
led  to  a  careful  analysis  of  the  nature  of  a  good  subject. 
A  good  subject  has  been  found  to  possess  four  fundamental 
qualifications.  (A)  An  appropriate  subject  is  one  on  which 
the  speaker  has  some  personal  knowledge.  (B)  An  ap- 
propriate subject  is  one  in  which  the  speaker  has  some 
personal  interest.  (C)  An  appropriate  subject  is  one  in 
which  people  are  interested.  (D)  An  appropriate  subject 
is  one  that  is  simple  enough  and  concrete  enough  to  hold 
the  attention  of  the  audience.  (For  class-use,  the  subject 
should  be  one  on  which  abundance  of  good  reading  is 
available.) 

(A)  The  Speaker's  Knowledge  On  The  Subject.— The 
first  thing  necessary,  in  attempting  to  select  the  best  possible 
subject,  is  for  the  speaker  to  conceive  the  subject  about 
which  he  knows  the  most.  Frequently  when  a  student 
attempts  this  task  for  the  first  time,  he  imagines  it  a  very 
difficult  one.  He  feels  that  he  does  not  know  anything 
worth  talking  about.  This  is  because  he  does  not  realize 
what  is  worth  talking  about.  It  often  happens,  when  a 
student  finds  how  something  that  he  had  considered  too 
small  or  too  insignificant  to  be  the  subject  of  a  talk,  is,  after 
all,  an  excellent  subject,  that  a  peculiar  expression  of  sur- 
prise and  relief  comes  over  his  face  as  he  says:  "I  guess 
I  know  more  than  I  thought  I  did.  Why,  anybody  knows 
subjects  like  that."  That  is  just  the  point.  We  all  know 
subjects  on  which  we  can  speak  better  than  on  subjects 


Il6     CONCEPTION-FORMING   IN   ORIGINAL   SPEECH 

anyone  else  may  give  us.  When  we  stop  to  think  about 
it,  this  fact  is  in  perfect  keeping  with  the  law  of  conception- 
forming.  We  learned  in  the  last  chapter,  that  the  first 
essential  in  forming  any  conception,  is  for  the  mind  to 
find  in  the  thing  to  be  conceived,  something  it  has  known 
before.  It  naturally  follows  that  if  a  speaker  is  trying  to 
conceive  the  best  subject  for  any  occasion,  he  should  first 
think  over  a  list  of  things  on  which  he  has  some  personal 
knowledge  and  find  the  one  on  which  his  knowledge  seems 
to  be  fullest.  He  should  then  form  a  clear  conception  of 
his  knowledge  on  that  subject. 

(B)  The  Speaker's  Interest  In  the  Subject.— The  second 
essential  in  conceiving  an  appropriate  subject,  is  that  it  be 
a  theme  in  which  the  speaker  is  personally  interested.  As 
soon  as  you  have  conceived  something  concerning  which 
you  have  some  personal  knowledge,  as  yourself:  "Am  I 
interested  in  that  ?"  "Why  am  I  interested?" 

Is  it  because  you  have  found  it  to  be  something  new 
concerning  things  which  you  know — a  novelty?  (We  found, 
in  Chapter  IV,  that  this  is  one  of  the  principal  sources  of 
interest. ) 

Or  are  you  interested  in  the  subject  under  consideration, 
because  it  has  brought  to  you  some  kind  of  personal  gain? 
(We  found  this  to  be  the  other  principal  source  of  interest.) 

If  you  find  yourself  interested  in  the  thing  considered, 
because  of  some  profit  or  gain  you  have  enjoyed  from  it, 
examine  more  carefully  the  kind  of  gain  you  received.  Did 
the  subject  you  are  considering  give  you  increased  pleasure, 
or  increased  health  and  vigor,  or  did  it  give  you  intellectual 
gain,  or  financial  gain,  or  did  it  appeal  to  your  deeper,  better 
self  and,  thereby,  give  you  soulful  gain? 


CONCEIVING  AN  APPROPRIATE   SUBJECT      117 

If,  after  a  thorough  examination  of  the  subject,  you  find 
that  it  has  neither  been  an  interesting  novelty  nor  has  it 
profited  you  in  any  such  ways  as  those  enumerated,  it  is 
exceedingly  doubtful  whether  you  are  deeply  enough  in- 
terested in  that  subject  to  interest  others  in  it,  even  though 
you  do  know  something  about  it.  The  encouraging  thought, 
however,  is  that  practically  every  subject  on  which  we  have 
any  considerable  personal  knowledge,  is  interesting  to  us 
through  one  or  more  of  these  causes,  if  only  we  are  keen 
enough  to  realize  it.  Since  we  must  realize  why  we  are 
interested  if  we  hope  to  interest  others  in  the  subject,  it  is 
vitally  important  that  we  build  a  thorough  conception  of 
our  interest  in  any  subject  we  intend  to  present. 

(C)  The  People's  Interest  In  the  Subject.— When  you 
have  conceived  a  subject  on  which  you  have  personal  knowl- 
edge and  in  which  you  are  personally  interested,  the  next 
essential  is  to  conceive  the  interest  the  people  have  in  that 
subject.  Naturally  you  will  build  this  conception  very  much 
as  you  built  the  conception  of  your  own  interest.  You 
will  inquire :  "Are  the  people  interested  in  this  theme  ?  Why 
should  they  be  interested?"  We  found,  p.  83,  that:  It  is 
the  new  in  the  old  that  interests,  hence,  you  will  inquire : 

Have  I  reason  to  believe  that  this  subject  will  present 
decidedly  new  characteristics  of  things  known  to  the 
people,  and,  hence,  that  it  will  interest  them  through  its 
novelty? 

Professor  Judd  (Genetic  Psychology  for  Teachers,  p.  41) 
says:  "Mental  life  is  made  up,  in  very  large  measure,  of 
those  processes  of  getting  behind  experiences  and  grasping 
meanings"  He  could  not  have  said  a  better  thing  for  the 
speaker  who  is  trying  to  conceive  an  appropriate  subject; 


Il8     CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN   ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

for  a  speaker's  conception  of  a  subject  is  worth  little  until 
he  conceives  some  meaning,  some  use,  of  that  subject  for 
his  hearers.  Professor  De  Garmo  (Interest  and  Education, 
p.  28)  says :  "Interest  ...  is  a  feeling  of  the  worth,  to  the 
self,  of  an  end  to  be  attained."  Professor  Pyle  (Outlines 
of  Educational  Psychology,  p.  215)  says:  "The  basis  of 
interest  is  always  the  same,  the  needs  of  the  individual.  .  .  . 
When  we  try  to  interest  him  in  aspects  of  life  that  have 
no  meaning  for  him,  he  feels  no  need  for  the  new  ideas." 
Hence,  in  trying  to  conceive  what  interest  your  subject  will 
have  for  the  people,  the  second  question  you  should  ask 
is:  "How  can  I  show  the  people  that  this  subject  will 
bring  them  profit?"  To  answer  this  question,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  conceive,  as  clearly  as  possible,  the  occasion  on 
which  you  will  give  your  speech  and  the  audience  to  which 
you  will  give  it.  Inquire  what  there  is  in  the  lives  or 
pursuits  or  beliefs  of  the  special  people  to  whom  you  expect 
to  speak,  that  will  help  them  to  be  interested  in  your  subject. 
Inquire  also  what  there  is  in  the  special  occasion,  that  will 
cause  the  subject  you  are  contemplating,  to  mean  more  to 
your  audience.  Do  you  conceive,  in  your  subject,  some 
special  financial  gain  that  it  may  bring  to  this  people?  Or 
some  physical  comfort  or  happiness?  Or  some  community 
welfare  that  will  mean  peace  and  contentment?  Or  some 
increase  of  health  and  vigor? 

If  you  can  conceive  no  special  reasons  why  any  certain 
class  or  classes  of  persons  should  be  interested  in  your 
contemplated  theme,  next  inquire  if  your  subject  presents 
things  which  concern  the  success  or  the  happiness  or  the 
welfare  of  all  the  people,  so  that  you  feel  that  any  audience 
should  be  interested  in  it.  Professor  Ross  (Social  Control, 


CONCEIVING  AN  APPROPRIATE   SUBJECT       119 

p.  72)  declares:  "The  crowd  stands  for  the  common  man 
in  his  most  unreasonable  mood."  Hence,  the  necessity  that 
the  speaker  should  change  the  CROWD  into  an  AUDIENCE. 
To  do  this,  he  must  first  conceive  a  subject  that  will  unify 
the  minds  of  his  hearers.  Nothing  can  do  this  more  effec- 
tively than  to  show  them  something  that  threatens  things 
in  which  they  are  all  interested.  Professor  Ross  (Ibid., 
18-19)  says:  "Not  sentiment,  but  invariably  force  or  the 
dread  of  force,  has  called  into  being  that  most  extensive  of 
co-operations,  the  State."  So,  the  audience  can  best  be 
solidified,  unified,  by  the  speaker's  first  conceiving  the  IN- 
TERESTS of  his  hearers,  and  then  the  dangers  which  threaten 
those  interests.  Therefore,  ask  the  question:  'What  is 
there  in  this  subject  I  am  contemplating,  that  will  help  the 
people  to  preserve  those  things  which  are  valuable  to 
all?" 

Not  until  you  have  formed  a  definite  conception  of  the 
special  or  the  general  reasons  why  the  people  should  be 
interested  in  your  subject,  have  you  proved  your  subject 
an  appropriate  one  even  though  you  have  personal  knowl- 
edge on  that  subject  and  a  personal  interest  in  it 

(D)  The  Simplicity  and  Concreteness  of  the  Subject. — 
When  you  have  conceived  a  subject  in  which  you  are  in- 
terested because  you  know  something  about  it  and  because 
you  have  conceived  the  interest  the  people  have  in  it,  the 
next  essential  is  to  inquire  whether  it  is  simple  enough  and 
concrete  enough  to  hold  the  attention  of  the  audience. 
Professor  De  Garmo  (Interest  and  Education,  p.  141)  says: 
"Concreteness  contributes  perhaps  more  than  any  other 
single  phase  of  instruction,  both  to  clearness  and  to  vivid- 
ness. It  lays  the  foundation,  therefore,  for  interest."  Here 


I2O     CONCEPTION-FORMING   IN   ORIGINAL   SPEECH 

again  the  golden  principle  which  we  have  previously  quoted 
from  Dr.  James,  comes  in  with  special  force,  "The  only 
things  of  real  intellectual  value  are  all  concretes  and  sin- 
gulars." Nowhere  else  is  this  so  strikingly  true  as  in  speak- 
ing. Professor  Judd  (Genetic  Psych,  for  Teachers,  p.  150) 
very  wisely  declares:  "Attention  means  the  active  con- 
centration of  the  senses  on  the  object  attended  to." 

People  can  sense  only  concrete  things  and  people  re- 
fuse to  give  any  continued  attention  to  things  which  they 
cannot  sense. 

Therefore,  if  you  desire  to  hold  the  attention  of  your 
audience,  you  must  conceive  a  subject  that  is  not  only  brief 
and  simple,  but  one  that  treats  concrete  things.  It  requires 
a  very  skillful  speaker  to  make  anything  but  a  failure  out 
of  such  subjects  as  "Pessimism  versus  Optimism/'  "The 
Moral  Nature  of  Man,"  or  "Immortality."  We  must  get 
closer  to  life,  to  things  we  see,  touch,  and  otherwise  sense 
in  life,  when  we  conceive  a  subject,  if  we  would  get  close 
to  the  audience  when  we  present  that  subject. 

Finally,  the  ability  of  your  subject  to  hold  the  interest 
of  the  audience,  will  be  greatly  increased  if  your  subject 
presents  concrete  things  which  have  in  them  life  and  move- 
ment. Dr.  James  (Talks  to  Teachers,  p.  92)  tells  us:  "Na- 
tive things,  moving  things  .  .  .  these  are  the  objects  natively 
interesting.  ...  I  have  seen  a  roomful  of  college  students 
suddenly  become  perfectly  still  to  look  at  their  professor 
of  physics  tie  a  piece  of  string  around  a  stick  which  he  was 
going  to  use  in  an  experiment,  but  immediately  grow  restless 
when  he  began  to  explain  the  experiment."  Undoubtedly 
the  sense  of  motion  is  one  of  the  speaker's  most  effective 
means  for  holding  the  attention  of  the  audience.  Therefore, 


CONCEIVING   A   DEFINITE   PURPOSE  121 

inquire  whether  the  subject  you  are  considering  will  give 
you  an  opportunity  to  present  and  discuss  moving  things. 

II.  Conceiving   a    Definite    Purpose   in    Presenting   the 

Subject 

When  a  speaker  has  conceived  a  subject  on  which  he 
expects  to  speak,  and  has  tested  the  appropriateness  of  that 
subject,  as  outlined  above,  he  is  then  ready  to  take  the 
second  important  step  in  preparing  for  his  speech.  That 
step  is  the  forming  of  a  clear  conception  of  the  speaker's 
purpose  in  presenting  the  subject. 

What  a  fatal  mistake  it  is  for  a  speaker  to  think  that 
when  he  has  a  good  subject,  all  there  is  left  for  him  to  do, 
is  to  study  that  subject  and  then  talk  on  it!  How  often 
we  hear  a  very  poor  speech  made  on  a  very  good  subject, 
even  when  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  the  speaker  has 
done  some  good  work  in  preparation,  simply  because  the 
speaker  has  not  conceived  a  definite  purpose  for  which  to 
present  his  theme!  How  can  a  speaker  expect  his  speech 
to  accomplish  any  definite  thing  with  the  audience,  if  he  has 
not  determined  what  definite  thing  he  wishes  it  to  accom- 
plish? What  would  you  think  of  an  architect  who  would 
construct  a  building  without  first  conceiving  clearly  the  use 
to  which  the  building  is  to  be  put,  without  asking  whether 
he  is  to  build  a  storehouse,  a  schoolhouse,  or  a  residence? 
We  can  hardly  imagine  an  architect  who  would  make  such 
poor  use  of  material;  yet  many  a  speaker  makes  equally 
poor  use  of  his  speech  material,  by  building  his  speech 
without  asking  what  it  is  he  hopes  to  accomplish  by  making 
this  speech. 

A  speaker  may  address  an  audience  for  any  one  of  four 


122     CONCEPTION-FORMING   IN   ORIGINAL   SPEECH 

fundamental  purposes.  These  are:  (A)  The  Purpose  of 
Entertaining;  (B)  The  Purpose  of  Instructing;  (C)  The 
Purpose  of  Convincing;  (D)  The  Purpose  of  Persuading. 
To  make  any  speech  reach  its  highest  degree  of  effectiveness, 
the  speaker  must  clearly  conceive  which  one  of  these  pur- 
poses best  suits  the  subject  he  is  presenting,  the  occasion 
on  which  he  is  to  speak,  and  the  audience  to  which  he  is' 
to  speak. 

(A)  The  Purpose  of  Entertaining. — When  a  speaker 
attempts  to  decide  whether  he  should  make  his  speech 
primarily  to  entertain,  or  to  instruct,  or  to  convince,  or  to 
persuade,  he  must  have  clearly  in  mind  the  characteristics 
of  a  speech  which  cause  it  to  do  one  or  another  of  these 
four  things. 

Let  us  inquire,  what  are  the  characteristics  of  an  enter- 
taining speech?  In  the  broadest  meaning,  the  term  "enter- 
taining" refers  to  anything  that  so  affects  the  emotion  of 
the  listener  as  to  divert  his  mind  from  its  ordinary  channels 
of  thought.  In  practical  usage,  however,  we  regard  as 
really  entertaining,  only  that  thing  that  turns  the  mind  of 
the  listener  into  lighter  moods  and  makes  it  cast  off  the  cares 
and  burdens  of  life.  The  thing  that  does  this,  is  commonly 
called  "amusing."  Therefore,  as  we  speak  of  a  speech 
given  to  entertain,  we  have  in  mind  a  speech  that  will  amuse. 
The  question  before  us,  then,  is  what  makes  a  subject  amus- 
ing? Anyone  who  closely  observes  the  nature  of  speeches 
whose  chief  function  is  to  cause  the  audience  to  "pass  a 
pleasant  hour,"  will  soon  notice  that  there  are  four  funda- 
mental characteristics  at  least  two  of  which  are  always 
present  in  such  a  speech.  These  are:  i.  The  Unusual 
Thing;  2.  The  Unusual  Situation;  3.  The  Unusual  Move- 


CONCEIVING  A   DEFINITE   PURPOSE  123 

ment ,'  4.  The  Unusual  Attitude  the  Speaker's  Mind  Assumes. 

We  listen  to  a  speech,  at  one  time,  with  much  amusement 
because  the  speaker  is  telling  us  about  certain  things  which 
are  "funny,"  about  things  which  are  immense  when  we 
expected  them  to  be  small,  as  the  proud  swagger  and  crow 
of  a  tiny  bantam  rooster,  or  about  things  which  are  small 
when  we  expected  to  find  them  immense,  as  the  thin, 
effeminate  voice  of  a  very  large  man — about  things,  at  least, 
some  of  whose  characteristics  are  very  different  from  what 
we  might  expect.  Such  a  speech  is  entertaining  because  the 
things  described  are  made  to  appear  so  different  from  our 
conceptions  of  what  those  things  should  be,  that  they  touch 
our  sense  of  humor.  Noted  examples  are  "Bob"  Burdett's 
description  of  the  'furniture  that  is  put  in  a  boy's  room, 
in  his  famous  lecture,  The  Rise  and  Fall  of  a  Mustache, 
and  Mark  Twain's  description  of  New  England  Weather. 

Another  speech  entertains  us  not  so  much  by  presenting 
things  ludicrous  or  incongruous  in  themselves,  but  rather 
by  showing  us  things  in  unexpected  situations,  for  example 
when  a  speaker  describes  someone  in  an  inverted  position 
on  the  ice,  vainly  endeavoring  to  gain  his  feet,  or  when  a 
bashful,  country  boy  is  described  at  a  formal  party  or  in 
the  midst  of  a  group  of  lively  girls. 

/  At  another  time,  a  speech  entertains  us  because  certain 
movements  of  things  or  persons  talked  about,  are  so  unex- 
pected that  they  are  humorous,  as  when,  in  the  midst  of 
some  great  flurry  of  excitement,  a  very  deliberate  character 
is  asked  to  do  something  quickly,  when  he  drawls:  "Aw, 
don't  be  in  such  a  hurry !"  or  when,  in  some  solemn  moment, 
an  irrepressible  young  girl  comes  dashing  in  and  pours  forth 
a  veritable  clatter  of  words. 


124     CONCEPTION-FORMING   IN   ORIGINAL   SPEECH 

Most  often  of  all,  however,  a  speech  is  thoroughly  amus- 
ing when  the  mind  of  the  speaker  is  so  completely  filled 
with  a  conception  of  humor,  that  he  takes  a  humorous 
attitude  toward  nearly  everything  about  which  he  speaks. 
When  this  is  the  case,  the  speaker  recognizes  amusing  char- 
acteristics which  ordinarily  would  be  passed  by  unnoticed. 
Such  a  speaker  also  employs  one  of  the  strongest  of  all 
sources  of  humor,  namely,  exaggeration.  He  sees  things, 
in  the  speech  he  is  making,  which  are  somewhat  amusing 
because  of  their  unexpected  nature  or  their  unexpected 
situations  or  their  unexpected  movements,  and  he  so  ex- 
pands these  amusing  features  that  they  seem  extremely 
amusing  to  the  listener. 

From  these  observations  the  student  of  speech  will  realize 
that  when  he  wishes  to  decide  whether  his  principal  purpose 
in  presenting  any  proposed  speech,  should  be  to  entertain 
his  audience,  he  should  first  inquire  whether  there  are  things 
about  which  he  intends  to  speak,  which  are  so  genuinely 
amusing  that  this  is  their  chief  characteristic.  If  this  is  not 
the  case,  the  speaker  should  next  determine  whether  there 
are  things  in  the  occasion  on  which  he  is  to  speak,  in  the 
nature  of  the  audience  to  which  he  is  to  speak,  and  in  his 
own  nature,  which  cause  the  subject  on  which  he  is  to 
speak  to  grow  more  amusing  to  him  every  time  he  thinks 
about  it.  If  none  of  these  things  obtain,  the  speech  would 
better  be  made  for  some  other  purpose  than  merely  to  enter- 
tain the  audience. 

Even  when  a  speaker  is  sure  that  he  can  make  a  proposed 
speech  entertaining,  he  is  not  always  wise  in  presenting  it 
for  that  purpose  alone.  Noble  and  commendable  as  is  the 
desire  of  a  speaker  to  give  his  audience  pleasure,  there  are 


CONCEIVING  A  DEFINITE   PURPOSE  12$ 

few  subjects  which  do  not  deserve  to  be  presented  for 
some  other  purpose  than  amusement  of  the  moment.  The 
successful  speaker  is  always  alert  to  conceive  all  the  amus- 
ing elements  in  any  subject  and  to  use  these  elements  to 
make  his  speech  a  success;  but  he  uses  them  to  aid  in  the 
accomplishment  of  some  other  purpose,  far  more  often 
than  he  makes  entertainment  an  end  in  itself.  It  is  only 
on  occasions  when  the  mind  of  the  audience  is  in  no  con- 
dition to  receive  anything  more  than  entertainment,  as,  for 
example,  the  after-dinner  speech  when  the  listeners  have 
eaten  a  heavy  banquet,  that  a  speaker  is  wise  in  making 
entertainment  his  chief  aim  and  purpose.  Even  then,  it  is 
often  best  for  the  speaker  to  work  for  some  higher  purpose, 
but  to  make  his  speech  so  thoroughly  entertaining  that  he 
accomplishes  his  higher  purpose  without  making  his  hearers 
conscious  of  it. 

(B)  The  Purpose  of  Instructing. — When  should  a 
speaker  make  the  chief  aim  of  his  speech,  to  instruct  his 
audience  ?  Before  a  satisfactory  answer  can  be  given  to  this 
question,  we  must  form  a  clear  conception  of  what  we 
mean  when  we  speak  of  making  a  speech  for  the  purpose 
of  instructing  an  audience.  To  do  this  means  decidedly  more 
than  merely  to  give  the  audience  some  information  during 
the  speech.  Every  speech  that  rises  above  the  purpose  of 
mere  entertainment,  presents  (or,  at  least,  is  supposed  to 
present)  some  knowledge  to  the  hearer.  Indeed,  the  speech 
that  is  presented  merely  to  entertain,  often  accomplishes  its 
purpose  through  giving  the  audience  a  certain  amount  of 
information.  But  they  are  two  very  different  and  distinct 
things,  to  present  a  speech  that  gives  some  facts  and  truths 
to  those  who  hear  it,  and  to  make  a  speech  whose  aim  is  to 


126     CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

instruct  the  hearers.  When  a  speaker  deliberately  makes 
this  his  purpose  for  presenting  any  proposed  speech,  if  he 
does  it  intelligently: 

He  must  do  so  because  he  conceives  certain  very  de- 
finite reasons  why  it  is  better  for  his  audience  to  get 
a  clear  understanding  of  certain  facts  concerning  his 
subject,  than  it  is  for  them  to  be  entertained  or  convinced 
or  persuaded  by  that  subject. 

This  brings  before  us  the  question,  what  reasons  can  a 
speaker  have  for  thinking  that  any  speech  will  be  most 
effective  if  it  ends  in  instruction?  What  can  there  be  in 
the  nature  of  a  subject  or  an  audience  or  an  occasion  on 
which  he  is  to  speak,  that  will  lead  a  speaker  to  this  con- 
clusion? It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  most  typical  subject  call- 
ing for  such  treatment  is  a  purely  scientific  theme.  For 
example,  if  an  electrician  is  going  to  speak  on  the  subject 
of  some  new  electrical  discovery,  he  may,  quite  naturally, 
conclude  that  the  most  important  end  for  him  to  try  to 
attain,  is  to  cause  those  who  hear  him,  so  clearly  to  under- 
stand the  principles  of  this  discovery  that  they  will  be  able 
to  teach  it  to  others  or  to  apply  it  in  the  use  of  electricity. 
If  a  chemist  wishes  to  explain  the  effect  of  certain  chemical 
compounds;  if  an  astronomer  intends  to  discuss  the  nature 
of  a  planet;  if  a  horticulturist  desires  to  explain  the  "habits" 
and  the  characteristics  of  certain  varieties  of  apples — each 
of  these  speakers  will  endeavor,  most  of  all,  to  have  his 
hearers  understand  the  scientific  facts  and  principles  about 
which  he  speaks.  From  these  few  illustrations  and  others 
which  will  occur  to  the  reader,  it  is  easy  to  see,  also,  that 
the  most  typical  audience  to  which  to  present  a  speech  for 
the  purpose  of  instructing,  is  an  audience  composed  of 


CONCEIVING  A   DEFINITE   PURPOSE  127 

students  of  science,  or  of  practical  scientific  men.  It  is 
equally  apparent  that  the  most  typical  occasion  for  such  a 
speech,  is  a  class-room  in  science  or  a  convention  or  institute 
assembled  for  the  purpose  of  discussing  scientific  ques- 
tions. 

A  little  careful  thinking,  however,  will  show  us  that  the 
speech  made  for  the  purpose  of  instructing,  is  not  limited 
to  the  scientific  talk.  A  class-room  lecture  on  any  subject, 
scientific  or  otherwise,  may  be  presented  for  the  prime  pur- 
pose of  instructing,  when  the  speaker  feels  that  the  most 
important  thing  for  him  to  do  is  to  give  his  hearers  accurate 
knowledge  of  certain  facts  and  principles  on  which  to  build. 
Then,  too,  there  is  the  large  field  of  commercial  speeches, 
talks  of  businessmen  to  businessmen.  Many  of  these  are 
given  for  the  chief  purpose  of  instructing  those  who  hear 
the  speeches,  as  when  a  general  manager  or  a  sales-manager 
lays  before  his  "force"  his  plans  for  the  next  day  or  the 
next  week,  or  when  a  speech  is  made  to  an  audience  of 
capitalists  to  show  them  the  practicability  of  a  proposed 
investment. 

While  there  is  a  wide  range  of  subjects  and  audiences 
and  occasions  which  seem  to  call  for  speeches  with  the  prime 
purpose  of  instructing,  yet  the  speaker  should  think  well 
before  he  determines  to  make  a  speech  with  instruction  as 
his  final  end  and  aim.  Undoubtedly  the  giving  of  instruc- 
tion or  information,  should  be  one  of  the  principal  features 
of  almost  any  speech;  but,  like  the  feature  of  entertaining, 
the  feature  of  instructing,  in  a  speech,  is  better  as  a  means 
to  an  end  than  as  an  end  in  itself.  In  Chapter  I,  we  pointed 
out  the  important  fact  that  any  talk  worthy  the  name  of  a 
public  speech,  is  conversation  enlarged,  expanded,  ennobled. 


128     CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN   ORIGINAL   SPEECH 

A  speech  that  is  made  for  the  final  purpose  of  instructing, 
is  almost  sure  to  lose  these  characteristics. 

When  a  speaker  feels  that  he  has  nothing  more  than 
matter-of-fact  to  say,  he  naturally  drops  into  a  matter- 
of-fact  way  of  saying  it. 

This  is  unquestionably  one  of  the  main  causes  of  the 
dry,  commonplace,  uninteresting  and  ineffective  speeches 
of  which  we  hear  so  many  at  the  present  time.  Only  yester- 
day, one  of  the  foremost  educators  of  the  country  came 
to  the  institution  with  which  the  writer  is  connected,  and 
gave  a  lecture  on  one  of  our  finest  statesmen  who  died 
recently.  The  subject,  the  occasion  and  the  audience  con- 
spired to  bring  forth  a  public  speech  of  the  highest  type. 
The  speaker,  however,  had  conceived  the  highest  purpose 
of  his  speech,  to  be  to  instruct  his  audience  concerning  cer- 
tain facts  in  the  life  of  the  dead  statesman.  The  result 
was  a  dead  and  unprofitable  talk,  unworthy  the  name  public 
speech.  The  audience  was  insulted,  outraged.  This  is  but 
one  of  innumerable  failures  of  this  kind  which  are  occurring 
on  every  hand  because  speakers  do  not  realize  that  the 
instruction  given  in  a  public  speech,  should  be  a  means  for 
reaching  some  higher  purpose,  rather  than  an  end  in  itself. 

(C)  The  Purpose  of  Convincing. — What  does  it  mean 
to  make  a  speech  for  the  purpose  of  convincing  those  who 
hear  it?  Think  of  the  use  you  have  been  accustomed  to 
make  of  the  term  "to  convince."  When  you  have  said, 
"Well  I  convinced  him,"  you  meant  that  you  succeeded  in 
showing  someone  that  you  were  right,  didn't  you  ?  Or  you 
meant  that  you  showed  wherein  he  was  wrong,  which 
amounts  to  the  same  thing.  This  is  precisely  the  meaning 


CONCEIVING  A  DEFINITE   PURPOSE  129 

we  give  the  term  here.     It  has  to  do  with  the  right  or 
wrong,  the  truth  or  falsity  of  a  thing. 

When  a  speaker's  chief  aim  is  to  convince  his  audience, 
it  means  that  he  desires,  most  of  all,  to  show  his  hearers 
that  certain  principles  of  action,  certain  principles  of  life, 
are  right. 

You  will  perceive  at  once  that  this  is  a  higher  purpose 
for  speaking  than  the  purpose  of  instructing.  It  is  higher 
because  it  enters  more  directly  and  more  closely  into  the 
lives  of  people.  As  we  have  said  above,  a  spech  that  has 
instruction  as  its  final  aim,  deals  almost  wholly  with  facts 
and  is  likely  to  become  as  lifeless  as  the  facts  presented. 
But  when  a  speaker's  main  purpose  is  to  convince  his  hearers, 
he  is  primarily  concerned  with  life;  for  when  we  attempt 
to  show  that  a  certain  thing  is  right,  we  really  try  to  prove 
that  that  thing  will  have  a  beneficial  effect  on  human  life. 
This  is  the  reason,  perhaps,  for  the  common  saying  thatx 
people  will  fight  for  their  rights  more  fiercely  than  for 
anything  else,  because  the  thing  that  is  right  actually  affects 
life.  For  this  reason,  the  speaker  who  speaks  to  convince, 
will  find  himself  more  vitally  interested  in  his  subject  and 
more  ready  to  fight  for  it.  For  this  reason,  too,  he  will 
find  his  audience  more  vitally  interested  in  him  as  well  as 
his  subject,  for  they  will  feel  that  he  is,  in  a  sense,  fighting 
for  their  rights.  For  these  reasons,  the  purpose  of  con- 
vincing is  the  highest  of  the  three  motives  for  speaking, 
which  we  have  considered.  It  is  a  worthy  aim,  to  give 
the  audience  genuine  pleasure;  it  is  a  more  worthy  aim, 
to  give  them  both  pleasure  and  useful  information;  it  is 
still  more  worthy,  to  make  both  the  pleasure  and  the  in- 


I3O     CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

formation  your  means  for  convincing  your  audience  that 
certain  things  are  right  and  useful  in  their  lives. 

How  will  you  determine  whether  any  speech  you  expect 
to  make,  shall  be  made  for  the  purpose  of  convincing?  Since 
we  find  it  such  a  wise  and  worthy  motive  for  speaking, 
should  you  determine  to  make  all  speeches  for  this  purpose  ? 
This  might  seem  a  commendable  ambition,  were  it  always 
practical.  You  will  find,  however,  that  your  speaking  will 
be  most  effective  if  you  form  your  conception  of  the  pur- 
pose for  which  you  should  speak,  out  of  the  nature  of  each 
single  subject  upon  which  you  speak,  together  with  the 
nature  of  the  occasion  and  the  audience  to  which  you  will 
speak.  When  you  have  fully  conceived  subject,  audience, 
and  occasion: 

Inquire  what  things  there  are  in  the  nature  of  your 
subject  and  the  occasion  on  which  you  will  speak,  which 
might  have  decided  effect  on  the  lives  of  those  to  whom 
you  will  speak. 

If,  after  thorough  investigation,  you  do  not  find  things 
which  appeal  to  you  as  being  so  beneficial  or  so  detrimental, 
that  you  feel  like  convincing  your  hearers  of  the  desirability 
or  undesirability,  the  right  or  wrong,  of  those  things,  then 
you  may  feel  sure  that  you  are  not  ready  to  make  a  speech 
for  the  purpose  of  convincing.  Since  practically  everything 
that  is  worth  making  a  speech  about,  however,  can  be  of 
decided  help  or  hindrance  to  human  beings,  you  should  not 
give  up  the  search  until  you  have  found,  in  your  subject, 
those  things  which  may  affect  the  lives  of  those  who  hear 
you. 

While  practically  every  speech  that  is  worthy  to  be  given 
in  public,  undertakes  to  convince  the  audience  of  the  right 


CONCEIVING  A  DEFINITE   PURPOSE  131 

or  wrong,  the  truth  or  falsity,  the  desirability  or  unde- 
sirability,  of  certain  things,  and  while  we  have  found  this 
purpose  of  convincing  the  highest  motive  for  speaking  thus 
far  examined,  yet  the  speaker  will  find  that  the  fullest 
success  in  speaking  will  be  reached,  not  through  this  but 
through  a  still  higher  purpose.  This  is  so  from  the  nature 
of  the  act  of  convincing.  When  our  final  aim  is  to  convince, 
we  appeal  only  to  the  understanding,  not  at  all  to  the  heart 
or  the  will.  What  is  the  result?  The  man  convinced  may 
see  his  duty,  but  may  not  be  inclined  to  do  his  duty.  It  is 
a  well-known  principle  of  ethics,  that  the  man  who  sees  his 
duty  and  does  it  not,  is  a  worse  man  than  he  was  before 
he  saw  his  duty.  The  speech  that  only  convinces,  then, 
and  leaves  the  listener  in  inaction,  is  a  failure.  Convincing, 
like  entertaining  and  instructing,  should  be  the  means  for 
accomplishing  a  higher  purpose  rather  than  an  end  in 
itself. 

(D)  The  Purpose  of  Pursuading. — Throughout  the 
above  discussion  of  the  various  purposes  for  which  a  speech 
may  be  made,  we  have  been  constantly  approaching  what 
seemed  to  be  a  moving  goal.  As  soon  as  we  have  in- 
vestigated the  virtues  of  any  one  purpose,  we  have  dis- 
covered that  its  chief  virtue  is,  that  it  prepares  the  way 
to  another  purpose  farther  on  and  higher  up.  The  best 
thing  about  the  purpose  to  make  a  speech  entertaining  is, 
that  it  better  prepares  the  audience  to  receive  the  instruction 
the  speaker  would  give.  The  best  part  of  both  entertain- 
ment and  instruction,  is  that  they  enable  the  speaker  to 
convince  the  audience  of  the  right  or  wrong  of  the  things 
discussed.  The  greatest  thing  the  purpose  to  convince  does 
for  a  speaker,  is  that,  by  showing  the  audience  the  right 


132     CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

or  wrong  in  things,  it  enables  him  to  influence  his  audience 
to  act  for  or  against  those  things. 

When  a  speaker  so  influences  his  hearers  as  to  move  them 
to  action,  he  has  then  persuaded  his  audience.  Persuasion 
is  the  last  of  the  four  general  purposes  named  above.  Since 
each  of  the  first  three  seems  to  have,  as  its  chief  mission, 
the  task  of  preparing  the  way  for  some  higher  purpose, 
and  since  we  have  now  come  to  the  last  one,  it  would  seem 
that  this  one,  namely,  the  purpose  of  persuading,  must  be 
the  chief  and  final  purpose  of  public  speaking.  So  it  is. 
Twenty-two  centuries  ago,  one  of  the  greatest  intellects  of 
all  time,  gave  to  the  world  a  definition  of  public  speaking. 
Aristotle  said :  "Oratory  is  the  art  of  persuasion."  No  one 
has  ever  been  able  to  surpass  that  definition.  Why?  Be- 
cause the  great  philosopher  went  to  the  bottom  of  the  sub- 
ject of  speaking,  as  he  went  to  the  bottom  of  every  subject 
he  attempted.  While  there  are  many  apparent  motives  or 
purposes  which  may  cause  a  person  to  speak,  Aristotle  saw 
that  beneath  all  these  there  lies  a  fundamental  purpose,  the 
purpose  of  persuasion.  He  saw  that  it  is  only  when  a 
speaker  makes  every  other  aim  and  motive  serve  this  final 
purpose,  that  either  speech  or  speaker  can  attain  to  full 
success. 

You  are  probably  ready  to  ask  a  practical  and  pertinent 
question:  "How  am  I  to  conceive  this  final  purpose  of 
persuading,  in  every  subject  on  which  I  speak?"  We  ad- 
mitted above  that  it  is  not  always  desirable  to  make  every 
speech  for  the  highest  possible  purpose.  We  have  found 
that  there  are  rare  occasions  when  it  may  seem  best  to 
speak  for  the  final  purpose  of  entertaining  or  instructing 
the  audience.  However,  since  the  most  effective  speaking 


EXPERIMENTS  133 

can  be  realized  only  through  the  purpose  of  persuading, 
it  is  certainly  worth  the  speaker's  effort,  before  discussing 
any  subject,  to  conceive  what  there  is  in  that  subject  that 
will  lend  itself  to  persuasion.  To  do  this,  the  speaker  must 
turn  again  to  inquire  what  there  is  in  his  subject  that  is 
interesting  to  his  audience,  for  certainly  no  one  is  persuaded 
by  anything  that  does  not  interest  him.  Furthermore,  no 
one  is  likely  to  be  moved  to  action,  by  a  speech,  until  he 
is  made  to  believe  that  his  action  will  bring  some  results, 
some  returns.  Therefore,  the  first  thing  to  do,  is  to  conceive 
the  things  about  which  you  expect  to  speak,  which  will 
bring  financial  or  physical  or  mental  or  moral  or  spiritual 
gain  to  the  listener,  provided  he  will  perform  the  acts  neces- 
sary to  get  the  gain.  Next  conceive  just  what  things  it  is 
necessary  for  the  listener  to  do  in  order  to  realize  the  sup- 
posed gain,  and  whether  those  necessary  acts  are  reasonable 
and  such  as  the  listener  might  be  expected  to  perform. 
Finally,  conceive  what  means  you  have  (or  expect  to  get  in 
your  preparation  of  the  speech)  by  which  you  hope  to  per- 
suade the  listener  to  perform  these  acts.  When  you  see  all 
these  things  clearly,  you  will  then  be  ready  to  begin  the 
actual  preparation  of  a  speech  that  is  to  be  made  for  the 
highest  of  all  purposes,  the  purpose  of  persuading. 

Experiments  in  Conceiving  an  Appropriate  Subject  and 
a  Definite  Purpose 

1.  Perform  the  experiment  of  conceiving  a  subject  which 
meets  the  requirements  outlined  in  the  preceding  discussion 
under  the  heading,  Conceiving  an  Appropriate  Subject. 

2.  When  you  have  conceived  a  subject  on  which  you  feel 


134     CONCEPTION-FORMING   IN   ORIGINAL   SPEECH 

that  you  can  make  your  best  effort,  then  perform  the  ex- 
periment of  conceiving  the  best  purpose  for  which  that 
speech  can  be  presented,  according  to  the  requirements  out- 
lined in  the  preceding  discussion  under  the  heading  "Con- 
ceiving a  Definite  Purpose."  Conceive  also  how  much  aid 
you  expect  to  get,  in  presenting  this  subject,  from  each  of 
the  other  three  fundamental  purposes. 

The  process  by  which  the  subject  and  also  the  purpose  is 
found,  should  be  written  and  brought  to  the  class  for  class- 
discussion.  Or  you  may  make  a  careful  outline  of  the 
reasons  why  you  tfelieve  this  to  be  your  best  subject  and 
your  best  purpose,  and  then  present  these  reasons  orally 
before  the  class. 


CHAPTER  VII 
CONCEPTION-FORMING   IN   ORIGINAL   SPEECH 

Conceiving  a  Definite  Plan  for  Presenting  a  Subject 

WHEN  a  speaker  has  conceived  his  subject  and  his  pur- 
pose, as  outlined  in  the  last  chapter,  he  is  then  ready  to 
take  the  third  important  step  in  the  preparation  of  his 
speech.  He  is  ready  to  conceive  a  definite  plan  for  present- 
ing his  subject.  He  finds  himself  eager  to  construct  the  plan 
for  his  speech,  that  he  may  have  definite  places  in  which 
to  put  the  things  he  expects  to  say  in  that  speech. 

This  idea  of  a  place  to  put  each  thing,  suggests  a  close 
analogy  between  a  plan  for  a  speech  and  the  floor-plan  of 
a  house.  In  the  discussion  of  Purpose  (p.  121)  we  sug- 
gested that  no  one  would  expect  an  architect  to  succeed 
who  would  attempt  a  building  without  first  conceiving  clearly 
the  purpose  for  which  the  building  is  to  be  used.  But  sup- 
pose an  architect  is  to  plan  a  residence,  and  suppose  he 
locates  promiscuously  the  rooms  to  be  used  for  various  pur- 
poses, and  closets  and  hall-ways  and  bathrooms,  but  with- 
out a  complete  and  definite  floor-plan.  Could  you  expect 
a  livable  residence  to  be  the  result?  Only  a  little  imagina- 
tion is  required  to  realize  that  in  such  a  house  everything 
would  always  be  in  the  wrong  place.  So,  a  speaker  may 
conceive  an  appropriate  subject  and  a  definite  purpose,  yet, 
if  he  fail  to  form  a  definite  plan,  much  that  he  says  is  likely 


136     CONCEPTION-FORMING   IN  ORIGINAL   SPEECH 

to  be  placed  wrongly,  either  for  his  own  convenience  or 
for  the  satisfaction  of  the  audience. 

To  conceive  a  clear  and  adequate  plan  for  a  speech, 
requires  six  distinct  acts.  These  are:  (A)  Conceiving  How 
Subject  and  Purpose  Produce  the  Plan;  (B)  Conceiving 
the  Three  General  Divisions  of  the  Speech;  (C)  Conceiving 
the  Nature  and  Number  of  Main  Headings;  (D)  Con- 
ceiving the  Nature  and  Number  of  Sub-headings;  (E) 
Conceiving  the  Nature  and  Number  of  Illustrations  Under 
Each  Sub-heading;  (F)  Conceiving  the  Order  of  Main 
Headings,  Sub-headings,  and  Illustrations. 

(A)  Conceiving  How  Subject  and  Purpose  Produce 
the  Plan. — It  should  be  obvious  to  everyone  that  that 
plan  or  outline  will  be  best  which  is  the  simple  outgrowth 
of  the  subject  itself,  and  of  the  speaker's  purpose  in  present- 
ing that  subject;  for  the  sole  object  of  the  plan  is  to  aid 
the  speaker  in  presenting  the  subject  so  as  to  accomplish 
his  purpose.  Therefore,  the  first  thing  a  speaker  should  do, 
in  attempting  to  form  his  plan,  is  to  study  the  subject,  to 
determine  what  there  is  in  the  nature  of  that  subject  that 
compels  this  or  that  kind  of  a  plan.  This  requires  a  closer 
analysis  of  the  subject  than  you  made  when  you  were  only 
trying  to  discover  whether  the  subject  was  an  appropriate 
one.  You  attempted  then  to  recall  what  you  knew  about 
the  subject,  what  interest  you  and  the  people  would  have 
in  it,  and  whether  it  was  sufficiently  single  and  concrete. 
Now: 

You  must  clearly  conceive  the  nature  and  the  meaning 
of  the  theme  you  have  to  present. 

By  "theme"  we  mean  the  particular  phase  of  life.  Ex- 
amine any  piece  of  literature  of  real  worth,  and  you  will 


DEFINITE   PLAN  FOR  PRESENTING  A   SUBJECT    137 

find  that  the  author's  mind  is  fixed  on  some  phase  of  life. 
You  will  find  that  everything  he  says,  is  a  direct  outgrowth 
of  that  phase  of  life,  just  as  the  trunk  and  the  branches 
and  the  twigs  and  the  leaves  of  a  tree  are  the  outgrowth 
of  a  particular  phase  or  kind  of  life  in  that  tree.  The 
same  is  true  of  a  speech.  How  often  we  hear  someone 
say,  when  trying  to  describe  a  speech  that  he  enjoyed: 
"It  was  a  live  speech."  What  is  meant  by  the  word  "live"  ? 
It  means  that  the  speaker  caused  the  listener  to  realize  the 
life  in  the  thing  talked  about.  If  you  would  have  your 
speech  worthy  of  this  high  compliment,  it  is  necessary  that 
you  fix  your  mind  on  the  distinct  phase  of  life  which  your 
subject  represents,  and  that  you  conceive  clearly  the  nature 
and  the  meaning  of  that  phase  of  life,  and  the  effect  it  has 
on  human  life  and  human  activity. 

This  point  may  become  more  patent  if  we  consider  a 
concrete  case.  Suppose,  for  instance,  that  the  subject  to 
be  discussed  is  "The  Panama  Canal."  A  moment's  careful 
thinking  will  cause  you  to  realize  that  the  canal  has  grown 
to  be  what  it  is  to-day,  just  as  truly  as  that  a  tree  grows. 
The  idea  of  a  canal,  first  existing  only  in  the  mind  of 
man,  reached  out  and  brought  together  all  the  forces  of 
nature  out  of  which  the  canal  grew.  Therefore,  if  you  are 
to  make  a  live  speech  concerning  the  canal,  it  is  necessary, 
first,  that  you  conceive  the  canal  as  containing  the  forces 
which  make  it  the  great  being  (the  great  life,  if  you  please) 
that  it  is. 

The  next  thing  necessary  is,  that  you  conceive  what  it  is  you 
wish  to  do  with  this  life,  this  being,  this  aggregate  of  forces. 
I.  Do  you  wish  to  tell  the  story  of  its  life?  That  is,  do  you 
wish  to  trace  the  story  of  its  growth?  (If  your  purpose 


138     CONCEPTION-FORMING   IN   ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

is  to  entertain  or  to  instruct  the  audience,  you  may  well 
accomplish  your  purpose  by  telling  the  story  of  the  canal's 
growth.)  If  you  do,  then  your  speech  will  assume  the 
form  of  Narration,  and  Narration,  as  we  shall  soon  see, 
calls  for  its  own  kind  of  plan  or  outline.  2.  Do  you  wish 
to  cause  your  audience  to  realize  just  what  the  canal  is 
to-day,  by  bringing  before  their  minds,  in  the  form  of 
word-pictures,  the  principal  characteristics  or  features  of 
the  canal  as  it  now  exists?  (If  you  have  no  higher  purpose 
in  making  your  speech,  than  to  entertain  or  to  instruct  your 
audience,  your  purpose  may  be  accomplished  in  this  man- 
ner.) If  such  a  picture  or  series  of  pictures  is  to  be  the 
substance  of  your  theme,  then  your  speech  will  be  a 
Description;  and  Description  calls  for  a  different  kind  of 
outline.  3.  Do  you  wish  to  explain  the  principle  on  which 
the  canal  is  constructed  or  the  principle  on  which  it  operates, 
or  both?  If  you  do  (and  if  your  purpose  is  merely  to 
instruct,  you  may  accomplish  your  purpose  in  this  manner) 
your  speech  will  be  an  Exposition,  which  requires  a  third 
form  of  outline.  4.  Do  you  wish  to  prove  to  your  audience 
that  certain  ideas  concerning  the  nature  or  the  uses  of  the 
canal,  are  wrong  and  should  be  changed?  If  so,  your 
speech  will  become  Argumentation.  Argumentation  re- 
quires an  outline  different  from  that  required  by  Narration, 
Description,  or  Exposition.  Therefore,  before  you  can 
determine  the  general  form  of  your  speech-plan,  it  is  neces- 
sary that  you  determine  how  subject  and  purpose  jointly 
produce  the  plan,  by  conceiving  clearly  the  inner  nature  of 
your  theme,  and  whether  you  can  best  present  that  inner 
nature  to  the  audience  in  the  form  of  a  story  or  a  descrip- 
tion or  an  exposition  or  an  argument. 


DEFINITE   PLAN  FOR   PRESENTING  A   SUBJECT    139 

(B)  Conceiving  the  Three  General  Divisions  of  the 
Speech. — We  have  just  said  that  the  outline  will  be  de- 
termined by  the  form  in  which  you  wish  to  present  your 
theme  to  the  audience.  There  is  one  characteristic  of  out- 
line, however,  that  remains  practically  the  same  for  all 
forms  of  address.  Whether  your  speech  is  to  be  in  the 
form  of  a  story  or  a  description  or  an  exposition  or  an 
argument,  if  it  is  carefully  thought  out,  it  will  contain  at 
least  three  divisions.  I.  Introduction;  2.  Actual  Theme ;  3. 
Conclusion.  The  reason  for  this  will  be  quite  clear  if  you 
will  think  of  the  speaker  before  the  audience  as  of  a  man 
taking  a  number  of  persons  on  a  trip  to  show  them  some- 
thing. A  man  conducting  such  a  trip  has  three  distinct 
things  to  do.  (A)  He  must  take  the  people  to  the  thing 
he  wishes  to  show  them;  (B)  he  must  show  them  the  thing 
they  came  to  see;  (C)  he  must  get  them  back  home.  The 
speaker  must  perform  three  tasks  of  very  similar  nature. 
I.  In  his  Introduction,  the  speaker  must  lead  the  audience 
into  the  very  atmosphere  and  life  of  the  thing  he  expects 
to  show  them.  Since  he  cannot  actually  take  them  there 
in  body,  as  the  man  conducting  the  trip  would  do,  he  must 
so  influence  their  minds  in  his  Introduction,  that  they  men- 
tally go  with  the  speaker  into  the  presence  of  the  thing 
to  be  observed.  2.  In  the  Actual  Theme,  the  speaker  should 
conceive  the  thing  he  is  discussing,  in  a  form  so  concrete 
that  his  task  is  the  simple  one  of  showing  to  the  persons 
in  his  audience,  the  important  characteristics  of  that  thing, 
as  directly  as  if  he  and  they  were  in  its  actual  presence. 
3.  In  the  Conclusion,  the  speaker  should  show  the  listeners 
what  the  thing  they  have  been  observing  means  in  their  own 
lives,  and,  hence,  enable  them  to  "take  it  home"  with  them. 


140     CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN   ORIGINAL   SPEECH 

Since  these  three  distinct  tasks  must  be  performed,  each 
requiring  a  separate  division  of  the  speech,  it  follows  that 
the  first  step  to  be  taken  in  drawing  up  a  plan,  is  to  divide 
the  whole  speech  into  the  three  general  divisions,  Introduc- 
tion, Actual  Theme,  and  Conclusion. 

A  Plan  for  a  Narrative  Speech 

(C)  Conceiving  a  Plan  for  the  Introduction  to  a  Nar- 
rative Speech. — What  shall  be  the  principal  things  and 
what  the  subordinate  things  discussed  in  the  Introduction 
of  a  speech  in  the  form  of  a  Narration?  The  answer  to 
this  question  must  necessarily  depend  on  the  particular  sub- 
ject to  which  the  audience  is  to  be  introduced.  The  im- 
portant thing  is,  that: 

The  speaker  should  say,  in  the  Introduction,  only  those 
things  which  will  make  the  audience  feel  acquainted 
with  the  subject,  interested  in  it,  and  eager  to  hear  about ; 
and  that  he  say  these  things  as  briefly  as  possible. 

What  things  must  the  speaker  say  to  accomplish  quickly 
these  three  things?  When  a  tactful  business  or  professional 
man  brings  together  two  persons  to  make  them  acquainted, 
how  does  he  do  it?  If  he  really  cares  to  have  them  knoiv 
each  other,  he  tries  to  suggest  to  each  person  addressed, 
something  in  the  life  of  the  other  person,  in  which  he 
believes  the  person  •  addressed  will  be  interested.  The 
speaker  can  find  no  better  method  than  this,  for  introducing 
his  audience  to  his  subject.  Therefore,  to  determine  the 
things  about  which  he  should  speak  in  the  Introduction,  the 
speaker  should  first  conceive  what  things  there  are  in  the 
life  or  nature  of  his  theme,  which  things  may  so  affect  the 


A   PLAN   FOR  A   NARRATIVE   SPEECH  14! 

lives  of  his  audience,  that  the  audience  will  become  imme- 
diately interested  in  those  things. 

For  example,  you  wish  to  conceive  a  plan  for  the  Intro- 
duction to  a  Narrative  speech  on  the  subject  suggested, 
"The  Panama  Canal."  First  inquire  what  things  there  are 
in  your  theme  in  which  your  hearers  are  sure  to  be  in- 
terested, i.  You  will  instantly  note  that,  in  the  proposed 
form  of  speech  you  will  be  telling  a  story;  you  know  that 
everybody  likes  a  good  story.  2.  Your  theme  is  the  story 
of  heroic  effort  against  great  difficulties;  you  know  that 
this  is  the  kind  of  story  that  people  like  best  of  all.  3. 
Your  subject,  the  Canal,  is  the  greatest  thing  of  its  kind 
in  all  the  world;  you  know  that  everybody  is  always  eager 
to  see  or  hear  about  anything  that  is  the  greatest  of  its 
kind.  4.  Your  subject,  the  Canal,  belongs  to  the  United 
States;  you  know  that  every  American  takes  a  special  in- 
terest and  pride  in  anything  his  country  has,  that  is  the 
greatest  in  the  world.  5.  Your  subject,  the  Canal,  is  a 
thing  created  by  the  skill,  the  industry,  the  money  and 
material,  of  the  United  States;  you  know  that  American 
pride  reaches  its  greatest  height  when  it  can  boast  some- 
thing its  country  has  accomplished  that  no  other  country 
has  been  able  to  accomplish.  6.  Your  subject,  the  Canal, 
is  something  that  brings  to  every  American  a  personal  gain 
by  giving  him  some  of  the  comforts  of  life  at  less  cost  and 
by  giving  to  his  home  greater  military  protection ;  you  know 
that  everyone  is  most  deeply  interested  in  that  thing  that 
adds  to  his  security  and  his  comfort.  In  these  six  double 
thoughts  you  will  find  the  substance  of  your  Introduction. 

When,  by  some  such  method  as  that  followed  in  the  last 
paragraph,  you  have  found  those  characteristics  of  your 


142     CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

theme  in  which  the  people  are  interested,  you  may  put  these 
thoughts  into  the  form  of  a  plan  or  an  outline,  in  either 
of  three  ways.  I.  You  may  make  such  statements  as  the 
six  just  given  above,  as  your  Main  Headings  and  your  Sub- 
headings, letting  the  first  part  of  each  statement  be  the 
Main  Heading  and  the  second  part  be  the  Sub-heading. 
(This,  as  you  see,  makes  the  particular  features  of  your 
theme  become  your  Main  Headings;  and  the  general  prin- 
ciples of  interest  to  which  these  features  apply,  the  Sub- 
headings under  these.)  2.  You  may  reverse  the  order  of 
such  statements  as  the  six  given  in  the  last  paragraph, 
making  the  second  part  serve  as  a  Main  Heading  and  the 
first  part  of  each  statement  serve  as  a  Sub-heading.  For 
example,  your  first  main  heading  would  be  "Everybody 
Likes  to  Hear  a  Good  Story";  your  sub-heading,  "My 
Speech  Is  in  the  Form  of  a  Story."  (This  plan  brings 
first  before  the  hearer  the  kind  of  thing  about  which  he 
knows  and  in  which  he  is  interested,  and,  through  this  thing, 
causes  him  to  feel  acquainted  with  and  interested  in  the 
thing  about  which  you  intend  to  tell  him.  It  is  a  decidedly 
better  plan  than  the  first,  especially  if  you  illustrate  each 
main  heading  by  a  concrete  example,  before  you  pass  on 
to  the  sub-heading.)  3.  As  a  third  method,  you  may  draw 
a  graphic  imaginative  word-picture  or  situation  in  which 
you  show  some  person,  a  child,  for  example,  fascinated  by 
a  story  in  all  essentials  the  same  as  the  story  you  are  in- 
troducing. Then,  when  your  picture  is  finished,  merely  state 
that  such  a  story  you  have  the  pleasure  of  bringing  before 
the  audience.  (This  third  plan  calls  for  no  formal  state- 
ment of  either  main  headings  or  sub-headings.  It  merely 
embodies  the  essential  attractive  features  of  your  Narration 


A   PLAN  FOR  A   NARRATIVE   SPEECH  143 

in  story  or  picture  form.)  This  last  plan  is  decidedly  the 
best  if  it  is  done  briefly  and  graphically;  for  it  makes  the 
Introduction  concrete  and,  thereby,  holds  the  attention  of 
the  audience  from  the  very  start. 

From  this  discussion,  the  speaker  will  realize  that  it  is 
necessary  to  know  a  subject  well  before  a  good  Introduction 
to  that  subject  can  be  outlined.  For  this  reason,  it  is  some- 
times well  to  wait  until  the  Actual  Theme  has  been  pre- 
pared, or,  at  least,  outlined,  before  attempting  to  outline 
the  Introduction. 

(D)  Conceiving  a  Plan  for  the  Actual  Theme  in  a 
Narrative  Speech. — When  a  speaker  attempts  to  form  an 
outline  for  the  Actual  Theme  for  a  Narrative  Speech,  he 
should  first  recall  the  purpose  of  Narration.  Professor 
Royce  (Outlines  of  Psychology,  p.  255)  says:  "Narration 
more  readily  appeals  to  us  than  does  Description.  .  .  . 
Narration  has  the  advantage  of  fixing  our  attention  more 
upon  the  kind  of  discrimination  which  we  find  easiest, 
namely,  the  discrimination  of  successive  facts."  We  would 
change  the  last  word  quoted  from  "facts"  to  "acts";  for 
this  is  the  very  essence  of  Narration,  to  set  forth  a  series 
of  acts.  This  is  the  reason  why: 

Narration  is  both  easier  to  listen  to  and  more  interest- 
ing than  most  other  forms  of  speech,  because  it  makes 
us  feel  as  if  we  were  doing  things  which  have  life  and 
movement.  The  purpose  of  Narration  is,  to  cause  a 
series  of  events  or  acts  so  to  live  again  before  the  audi- 
ence, that  those  events  or  acts  will  seem  to  be  actually 
happening  while  the  speaker  shows  them  to  the  audience. 

To  prepare  a  plan  by  which  to  do  this,  the  speaker  must 
conceive  four  things:  (i)  how  many  and  what  kind  of 


144     CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

main  headings  he  needs;  (2)  how  many  and  what  kind 
of  sub-headings;  (3)  how  many  and  what  kind  of  illustra- 
tions or  examples;  (4)  what  shall  be  the  sequence  of  all 
these. 

To  discover  how  these  four  conceptions  may  be  formed, 
let  us  consider  the  concrete  subject  used  already  in  con- 
ceiving the  Introduction  of  a  Narrative  speech,  namely, 
"The  Panama  Canal."  To  tell  to  your  audience  the  story 
of  the  life  of  the  Canal,  you  must,  of  course,  first  conceive 
the  forces  out  of  which  the  "life"  of  the  Canal  sprang. 
What  large  needs  of  humanity  were  not  being  served ;  what 
conception  arose  in  the  mind  of  man  by  which  to  meet 
these  needs;  and  what  strong,  adventurous  spirit  arose  in 
the  heart  of  man,  to  realize  that  conception?  A  lucid, 
general  statement  of  these  human  forces  out  of  which  the 
Canal  grew,  will  form  the  first  Main  Heading  of  the  Actual 
Theme.  As  soon  as  you  have  fully  conceived  these  forces, 
you  will  sense  the  necessity  of  causing  your  audience  to  see 
and  to  feel  how  these  forces  began  to  apply  themselves. 
Arrangements  had  to  be  made  with  the  governments  of  the 
world  before  any  one  government  could  begin  to  bring  forth 
a  project  so  world-affecting.  A  statement  concerning  these 
arrangements  may  form  your  second  Main  Heading.  The 
third  Main  Heading  may  grow  out  of  your  conception  of 
the  physical  obstacles  to  be  overcome,  the  physical  task 
to  be  performed;  the  fourth,  out  of  your  conception  of  the 
equipment,  in  money,  materials  and  men,  necessary  for  the 
accomplishment  of  this  gigantic  task.  Other  main  headings 
may  set  forth  the  actual  beginning  of  the  work  on  the  Canal, 
interesting  happenings  during  the  progress  of  the  work,  and 
the  final  completion  of  the  Canal.  In  other  words: 


A  PLAN  FOR  A  NARRATIVE  SPEECH          145 

The  Main  Headings  of  the  Actual  Theme  for  a  Nar- 
rative Speech  on  "The  Panama  Canal,"  will  be  sim- 
ple statements  of  the  speaker's  conception  of  the  most 
important  periods  in  the  life  and  growth  of  the  Canal. 
The  same  method  will  secure  the  best  main  headings 
for  any  speech  that  is  to  employ  the  form  of  Narration. 

Admittedly,  the  Sub-headings  in  such  a  speech  will  be 
largely  determined  by  the  Main  Headings.  Just  as  a  main 
heading  arises  out  of  the  speaker's  conception  of  an  im- 
portant period  in  the  whole  theme,  so: 

A  sub-heading  arises  out  of  the  speaker's  conception 
of  an  important  period  or  happening  within  a  period 
set  forth  by  the  main  heading. 

For  example,  if  the  first  main  heading  in  the  Actual 
Theme  of  a  Narrative  Speech  on  "The  Panama  Canal," 
should  be  "The  Forces  Out  of  Which  the  Canal  Grew, 
First  Lived  In  the  Mind  of  Man,"  the  sub-headings  under 
such  a  heading  might  be  stated  as  follows.  I.  Man  con- 
ceived the  great  benefit  a  shorter  waterway  would  bring 
to  mankind.  2.  Man  conceived  the  idea  of  making  this 
shorter  waterway  across  the  Isthmus  of  Panama.  3.  Con- 
ceiving the  great  difficulties  in  such  an  undertaking,  man's 
mind  conceived  the  forces  necessary  to  overcome  those  dif- 
ficulties. 

In  like  manner  every  main  heading  in  any  Narrative 
speech,  suggests  its  own  sub-headings  when  you  have  con- 
ceived the  principal  periods  or  Happenings  within  the  period 
set  forth  by  the  main  heading. 

How  many  and  what  kind  of  illustrations  are  required  to 
present  well  the  Actual  Theme  in  a  Narrative  Speech  ?  Ob- 
viously this  will  depend  on  the  sub-headings  just  as  the 


146     CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

sub-headings  depend  on  the  main  headings.  Two  important 
things  should  be  borne  in  mind,  however,  when  a  plan  is 
being  conceived  for  any  narrative  speech.  First,  every  sub- 
heading calls  for  a  concrete  illustration  or  example;  for  it 
is  only  the  things  brought  before  their  imaginative  senses, 
that  win  and  hold  the  attention  of  the  audience.  Secondly, 
every  illustration  should  be  taken  from  the  life  of  the  theme 
you  are  presenting;  for,  in  a  Narrative  speech,  the  constant 
aim  of  the  speaker  should  be  to  keep  before  the  audience, 
the  life  of  the  thing  discussed,  and  to  cause  the  audience 
to  see  that  life  develop.  For  instance,  an  illustration  under 
sub-heading  I  in  the  last  paragraph  above,  might  be  the  trip 
of  a  vessel  sailing  from  New  York  around  Cape  Horn  to 
San  Francisco,  bringing  graphically  before  the  audience  the 
number  of  thousands  of  miles  in  such  a  trip  and  the  number 
of  days  required  to  complete  it.  An  illustration  under  sub- 
heading 2,  might  be  a  trip  which  man  imagined  one  might 
take  from  New  York  to  San  Francisco  via  a  canal  across 
the  Isthmus  of  Panama,  bringing  graphically  before  the 
audience  the  number  of  thousands  of  miles,  and  the  number 
of  days  of  travel  such  a  canal  would  save. 

We  now  come  to  the  last  step  to  be  taken,  to  complete 
the  plan  for  the  Actual  Theme  in  a  Narrative  Speech.  What 
shall  be  the  order  of  the  main  headings,  the  sub-headings, 
and  the  illustrations?  Keep  in  mind  the  fundamental  pur- 
pose of  a  narrative  speech  (stated  on  page  143)  and  this 
question  answers  itself.  If  your  speech  should  cause  a 
series  of  events  to  live  again  before  the  audience,  then  cer- 
tainly those  events  should  live  in  the  same  order  in  which 
they  actually  occurred.  In  main  headings,  sub-headings, 
and  illustrations,  begin  at  the  beginning,  watch  things  as 


A  PLAN  FOR  A  NARRATIVE   SPEECH  147 

they  grow,  one  into  another,  and  you  will  have  the  most 
natural  and  effective  order  of  any  Narrative  Speech. 

(E)  Conceiving  a  Plan  for  the  Conclusion  to  a  Narra- 
tive Speech. — What  shall  be  the  plan  for  the  Conclusion 
to  a  Narrative  Speech  ?  Some  good  narrative  speeches  seem 
to  need  no  Conclusion  beyond  that  found  in  the  last  division 
of  the  Actual  Theme.  The  reason  for  this  is  easy  to  find. 
If  a  speaker  is  telling  his  story  merely  to  entertain,  or  to 
entertain  and  instruct,  then,  when  he  has  caused  the  series 
of  events  making  up  his  story,  to  live  again  before  his 
audience,  he  may  think  that  his  work  is  done.  In  such  case, 
the  speaker  may  consider  the  conclusion  of  his  story  the 
Conclusion  of  his  speech.  However,  when  the  speaker  de- 
sires so  to  present  his  story  that  he  may  convince  and 
persuade  his  hearers  to  take  a  certain  attitude  toward  the 
subject  of  the  story,  as  will  almost  always  be  the  case,  the 
speaker  then  needs  a  separate  plan  for  the  Conclusion. 
Suppose,  for  instance,  that  you  have  conceived  a  plan  for 
an  Introduction  and  for  the  Actual  Theme  of  a  speech 
that  is  to  be  "The  Story  of  the  Panama  Canal."  Suppose 
that  the  final  purpose  of  your  effort  is  to  cause  your  hearers 
to  have  a  deeper  appreciation  of  and  a  deeper  interest  in 
the  Canal.  You  would  not  feel  content  to  end  your  speech 
with  the  events  happening  when  the  Canal  was  completed. 
You  will  wish  to  show  your  hearers  whether  the  Canal, 
completed,  is  what  it  was  expected  to  be.  In  other  words, 
you  will  wish  to  show  your  hearers  what  the  Canal  means 
to  them.  To  accomplish  this,  one  main  heading  may  be 
sufficient,  stated  something  like  this :  "Has  the  Great  Effort 
Been  Justified?" 

Simple  and  effective  sub-headings  to  this  may  be  found 


148     CONCEPTION-FORMING   IN   ORIGINAL   SPEECH 

by  conceiving  the  contrast  between  certain  prominent  fea- 
tures of  the  growth  of  the  Canal  and  similar  features  in 
its  activity  to-day.  For  example,  contrast  the  cost  of  the 
Canal  to  the  Government  of  the  United  States,  with  the 
revenue  the  Government  receives  from  the  Canal ;  contrast 
the  number  of  people  employed  to  build  the  Canal,  with 
the  number  of  people  benefited  by  its  service,  etc.  A  Con- 
clusion constructed  on  such  a  plan  has  the  advantage  over 
other  plans,  of  doing  three  important  things  at  once.  I.  It 
gives  a  brief  Summary  of  the  principal  events  in  the  Actual 
Theme;  2.  It  briefly  sets  forth  the  principal  things  which 
the  subject  of  the  Narration  may  do  for  the  audience; 
3.  It  strengthens  the  effect  of  each  of  these  two  by  con- 
trasting one  with  the  other,  just  as  white  is  made  whiter 
and  black  blacker  by  putting  one  against  the  other. 

Conceiving  a  Plan  for  a  Descriptive  Speech 

Conceiving  a  Plan  for  the  Introduction  to  a  Descrip- 
tive Speech. — If  the  question  were  asked,  is  there  any 
fundamental  difference  between  the  Introduction  to  a  Nar- 
rative speech  and  the  Introduction  to  a  Descriptive  speech, 
we  should  say  that  there  is  not  any  fundamental  difference. 
The  same  essential  things  must  be  done  in  each.  In  the 
Introduction  to  a  speech  in  either  of  these  two  forms,  the 
speaker  should  say,  as  briefly  as  possible,  only  those  things 
which  will  (i)  make  the  audience  feel  acquainted  with  the 
subject,  (2)  interested  in  it,  and  (3)  eager  to  hear  about  it. 
To  do  these  three  things  in  the  Introduction  to  a  Descriptive 
Speech,  just  as  in  the  Introduction  to  a  Narrative  Speech, 
the  speaker  must  first  conceive  what  things  there  are  in 
the  life  or  nature  of  his  theme,  which  things  may  so  affect 


A  PLAN  FOR  A  DESCRIPTIVE  SPEECH  149 

the  lives  of  his  audience,  that  to  hear  about  those  things  at 
once  makes  the  audience  interested  in  them  for  its  own 
sake. 

For  example,  you  wish  to  outline  the  Introduction  to 
a  Descriptive  Speech  on  the  subject,  "The  Panama  Canal." 
You,  at  once,  realize  that  now,  instead  of  telling  the  audience 
a  story,  as  you  did  in  a  Narrative  Speech  on  this  subject, 
you  are  going  to  show  the  audience  a  picture.  You  are 
going  to  take  the  audience  on  a  mental  trip  from  one  end 
of  the  Canal  to  the  other,  that  you  may  show  the  Canal 
as  it  exists  to-day.  Therefore,  the  one  essential  thing  which 
your  Introduction  must  do,  is  to  induce  the  audience  to  take 
this  mental  trip  with  you,  take  it  willingly,  take  it  gladly. 
What  characteristics  are  there  in  the  picture  you  wish  to 
show  the  audience,  which  are  like  things  in  which  people 
are  always  interested?  I.  You  know  that  people  are  in- 
terested in  those  pictures  which  present  some  unusual  phases 
of  life ;  the  picture  you  are  about  to  present  to  the  audience, 
is  a  picture  of  the  greatest  thing  of  its  kind  in  all  the 
world.  2.  You  know,  that  in  this  age  of  "movies,"  the 
people  are  still  more  interested  in  those  pictures  in  which 
there  is  some  unusual  human  activity ;  the  action,  which  you 
will  picture,  of  passing  through  the  "Great  Canal,"  is  unique. 
Some  such  points  as  these  two,  when  treated  in  the  manner 
outlined  on  pages  142  and  143,  may  be  found  appropriate 
Main  Headings  and  Sub-headings  for  the  Introduction. 
Or  you  may  find  it  desirable  to  include  such  points  as  those 
numbered  4,  5,  and  6,  on  page  141.  The  essential  thing 
is,  that  you  conceive  those  characteristics  of  your  subject 
(the  thing  you  are  about  to  describe),  which  you  feel  sure 
will  be  most  interesting  to  your  audience.  Such  a  simple 


I5O      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

statement  of  these  things,  as  will  cause  your  hearers  to 
realize  why  they  are  interested  in  the  picture  you  are  about 
to  show  them,  will  make  the  best  headings  for  your  In- 
troduction. 

Conceiving  a  Plan  for  the  Actual  Theme  of  a  Descrip- 
tive Speech. — To  find  the  best  plan  for  the  Actual  Theme 
of  a  Descriptive  Speech,  let  us  conceive  clearly  what  a 
descriptive  speech  should  accomplish.  Professor  De  Garmo 
(Interest  and  Education,  p.  159)  says:  Narration  describes 
that  which  happens  in  time;  description  tells  of  that  which 
exists  in  space."  He  declares  that  Description  is  always 
more  difficult  for  the  listener  to  follow,  even  when  well 
done,  than  Narration,  and  then  explains  this  by  saying: 
"In  the  case  of  description,  the  description  moves  on  but 
the  object  does  not."  Professor  De  Garmo  (perhaps  un- 
consciously) is  here  giving  us  the  secret  of  successful, 
effective  Description.  It  is  the  movement,  the  life,  in  the 
description,  or  -suggested  by  the  description,  that  makes  it 
interesting.  Not  all  movements  will  make  a  description 
interesting ;  but  analyze  any  description  that  is  uninteresting 
or  difficult  to  follow  and  you  will  find  that  it  lacks  interest 
either  because  it  contains  no  movement  or  because  the  move- 
ment it  contains  is  monotonous.  For  instance,  few  things 
which  we  might  attempt  to  describe  have  more  movement 
than  the  "restless  waves"  of  the  ocean,  yet  a  listener  will 
soon  be  tired  out  by  a  mere  description  of  the  waves.  Let 
the  speaker  describe  the  waves  as  they  wash  some  object 
ashore,  however,  and  the  audience  will  listen  in  rapt  atten- 
tion. This  shows  us  that  Description  is  interesting  when 
it  contains  or  suggests  movement  that  passes  from  event  to 
event  toward  the  accomplishment  of  something.  You  reply 


A  PLAN  FOR  A  DESCRIPTIVE  SPEECH  15! 

that  this  is  the  work  of  Narration,  to  describe  a  series  of 
events?    Very  true;  therefore: 

To  make  Description  most  effective,  it  must  be  com- 
bined with  Narration — it  must  be  Narrative  Description. 
It  should  cause  the  hearers  to  feel  as  if  they  were  actually 
in  the  presence  of  the  thing  described,  observing  it  and 
passing  from  one  part  of  that  thing  to  another,  as  the 
speaker  describes  it. 

Then,  naturally : 

The  Main  Headings  of  the  Actual  Theme  of  such  a 
speech  should  be  simple  statements  of  the  most  note- 
worthy divisions  or  parts  of  the  thing  described.  It  is 
clear,  also,  that  each  Sub-heading  in  a  plan  for  a  Descrip- 
tive Speech,  should  be  a  simple  statement  of  some  note- 
worthy thing  or  group  of  things  found  within  the  general 
division  of  the  subject,  that  moment  described. 
.  For  example,  if  you  wish  to  conceive  a  plan  for  the 
Actual  Theme  of  a  Descriptive  Speech  on  "The  Panama 
Canal,"  the  first  Main  Heading  might  well  be  "We  enter 
the  Canal  from  the  Caribbean  Sea."  Sub-headings  under 
this  would  be  statements  concerning  the  vessels  you  wish 
to  show  to  your  audience  at  this  point,  the  things  seen  on 
the  shore  at  this  point,  etc.  The  second  Main  Heading 
might  well  be  a  statement  concerning  the  division  of  the 
Canal  lying  between  the  Caribbean  entrance  and  the  first 
lock.  The  sub-headings  under  this  would  be  similar  to 
those  suggested  for  the  first  main  heading.  The  third  Main 
Heading  might  well  be  "We  pass  through  the  first  lock." 
Each  Sub-heading  under  this  would  be  a  statement  of  some- 
thing you  observe  while  taking  your  audience  on  the  im- 
aginative trip  through  this  lock.  All  the  rest  of  the  Main 


152      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

Headings  and  Sub-headings  may  be  conceived  in  like 
manner. 

When  we  consider  the  Nature  and  Number  of  Illustra- 
tions needed,  and  the  Order  for  the  Main  Headings,  Sub- 
headings, and  Illustrations  (points  E,  and  F,  outlined  on 
p.  136)  the  plan  for  the  Actual  Theme  of  a  Descriptive 
Speech  becomes  still  more  simple.  As  to  illustrations,  it  is 
clear  that: 

Each  individual  thing  described  under  any  sub-heading, 
is  its  own  illustration.  No  further  illustrations  are 
needed  except  in  those  cases  where  the  speaker  is  describ- 
ing something  wholly  unknown  to  the  listener.  Then, 
of  course,  the  speaker  must  illustrate  the  thing  he  de- 
scribes, by  something  which  he  knows  to  be  familiar 
to  the  listener. 

Only  in  this  way  can  the  speaker  hope  to  give  the  listener 
a  clear  conception  of  the  thing  he  describes;  hence,  only 
in  this  way  can  he  hope  to  hold  the  attention  of  the  listener. 

As  to  the  sequence  in  which  the  Main  Headings,  Sub- 
headings, and  Illustrations  should  appear,  it  is  clear  that 
the  one  idea  that  should  govern  the  order  of  all  these, 
is  the  idea  of  progression.  That  is,  the  outline  for  your 
speech  should  move  from  one  part  to  another  exactly  as 
you  would  move  if  you  were  actually  passing  from  one 
point  on  the  thing  described,  to  the  last  point  on  the  side 
opposite  to  this.  By  this  simple  plan,  your  mind  easily 
conceives  each  new  thing  to  which  it  turns,  as  the  immediate 
neighbor  to  the  thing  from  which  it  that  moment  turns. 
Such  an  arrangement  of  the  points  in  the  outline  may  well 
be  called  the  "natural"  order,  for  it  makes  the  easiest  path- 


A  PLAN  FOR  A  DESCRIPTIVE  SPEECH          153 

way  for  both  the  mind  of  the  speaker  and  the  mind  of  the 
listener. 

Conceiving  a  Plan  for  the  Conclusion  to  a  Descriptive 
Speech. — The  Conclusion  to  a  Descriptive  Speech  is  very 
much  like  the  Conclusion  to  a  Narrative  Speech.  We  have 
found  that  some  narrative  speeches  seem  to  need  no  con- 
clusion in  addition  to  the  last  division  of  the  Actual  Theme ; 
the  same  is  true  in  some  descriptive  speeches.  In  a  descrip- 
tive speech,  if  the  purpose  of  the  speaker  is  only  to  enter- 
tain, or  to  entertain  and  instruct,  then  the  speaker  may 
consider  his  work  done  when  he  has  shown  his  audience 
the  complete  picture  of  the  subject.  In  such  a  case,  the 
conclusion  of  the  picture  is  the  Conclusion  of  the  speech. 
You  will  find,  however,  that: 

Almost  always  you  will  make  a  Descriptive  Speech 
for  the  purpose  of  persuading  your  hearers  to  take  a 
certain  attitude  toward  the  thing  you  describe.  When 
such  is  the  purpose  of  your  speech,  you  then  need  a 
separate  plan  for  the  Conclusion. 

To  form  such  a  plan,  you  must  first  conceive  clearly  why 
you  need  a  Conclusion.  What  is  it  you  hope  to  do  to  the 
minds  of  your  hearers,  to  enable  them  to  get,  from  the 
picture  you  have  drawn,  the  lasting  impression  you  wish 
them  to  get?  You  desire  them  to  get  the  picture  before 
their  minds,  as  a  unit,  a  whole,  do  you  not?  You  have 
shown  your  subject  (the  object  described)  to  your  hearers 
little  by  little,  piece  by  piece,  till  their  minds  are  crowded 
with  a  great  mass  of  details.  You  know  that  it  is  impossible 
for  them  to  remember  all  these,  or  to  carry  away  any  strong, 
single  impression  from  them.  To  give  them  such  a  lasting 
impression,  you  must  simplify  for  them  the  picture  you 


154      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

have  drawn.  You  must  cause  the  picture  to  come  once 
more  before  the  minds  of  your  audience,  but  this  time  not 
in  many  details,  but  in  those  few,  strong,  striking  features 
which  make  it  a  picture  to  be  remembered.  The  fewest 
possible  headings  that  will  accomplish  this,  will  make  the 
best  outline  for  the  Conclusion  to  a  Descriptive  Speech. 
One  Main  Heading  such  as  "Contemplate  with  me  the  trip 
we  have  taken,"  might  suffice  for  the  Descriptive  Speech 
on  'The  Panama  Canal."  Under  this  you  would  need 
only  those  Sub-headings  that  will  give  a  quick  review. of 
the  most  striking  scenes  in  the  trip  you  have  taken. 


Experiments  in  Conceiving  a  Plan  For  a  Narrative  Speech 
and  For  a  Descriptive  Speech 

1.  Perform  the  experiment  of  conceiving  and  stating  a 
plan  for  a  Narrative  Speech,  in  accordance  with  the  require- 
ments outlined  above. 

2.  According  to  the  requirements  outlined  under  "A  Plan 
for  a  Descriptive  Speech,"  conceive  and  state  a  plan  for  a 
Descriptive  Speech. 

These  plans  should  be  written  and  submitted  for  examina- 
tion and  discussion. 

To  save  time,  it  will  be  found  advantageous  to  use,  for 
these  experiments,  such  a  subject  as  the  one  we  have  been 
considering,  "The  Panama  Canal" — a  subject  on  which  a 
Narrative,  a  Descriptive,  an  Expository,  and  an  Argumenta- 
tive speech  may  be  made.  The  same  subject  may  then  be 
used  for  the  study  of  all  four  forms  and  may  then  be 
developed  into  an  actual  speech.  It  is  also  highly  desirable 


EXPERIMENTS  155 

that  the  intending  speaker  consult  the  librarian  before  de- 
ciding upon  a  subject  to  be  used  for  all  these  efforts,  to 
ascertain  how  much  material  is  available  on  the  subject. 
To  make  the  effort  really  educative  and  worth  while,  a 
considerable  amount  of  reading  should  be  done  on  the 
subject  chosen.  Is  the  reading  matter  available? 

Since  a  good  speech  can  be  made  in  the  form  of  either 
Narration  or  Description  (on  a  subject  with  which  the 
speaker  is  very  familiar)  with  little  or  no  reading,  however, 
if  the  speaker  is  anxious  to  "try  out"  the  plan  he  conceives, 
he  may  desire  to  use  a  simpler  subject  for  these  two  experi- 
ments, and  not  only  outline  it  but  also  prepare  at  once  to 
make  a  short  speech  upon  it. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 
A  Plan  For  An  Expository  Speech 

BEFORE  we  attempt  to  conceive  a  plan  for  a  speech  that 
is  to  be  presented  in  the  form  of  an  Exposition,  let  us  first 
get  a  clear  idea  of  the  kind  of  exposition  that  is  used  in 
effective  speaking.  Practically  all  rhetoricians  agree  that 
pure  exposition  is  the  statement  and  discussion  of  an  ab- 
stract or  general  theme,  and  that  the  purpose  of  exposition 
is  to  explain  the  meaning  of  the  thing  discussed  and  to 
show  some  general  principle  upon  which  that  thing  is  con- 
structed or  upon  which  it  operates.  For  instance,  Professor 
Maurice  G.  Fulton  (Expository  Writing,  Introduction,  p. 
xvi)  says: 

The  most  commonly  found  subject  matter  of  exposition  is 
the  abstract  and  general.  .  .  .  Exposition  may  take  a  term  like 
psychology,  nature,  erosion,  art,  or  culture,  and  seek  to  set 
forth  clearly  what  it  is,  what  are  its  essential  qualities,  into 
what  kinds  it  is  divided. 

Scott  &  Denny  (Composition-Rhetoric,  p.  302)  say: 

The  subject-matter  of  exposition  is  general  ideas,  laws,  or 
principles,  not  (as  in  description  and  narration)  particular 
things. 

Now  if  this  is  the  only  kind  of  exposition  there  is,  the 
speaker,  obviously,  will  have  little  use  for  it,  You  have 

156 


A  PLAN  FOR  AN  EXPOSITORY  SPEECH  157 

frequently  observed  that  nothing  bores  you  or  puts  you  to 
sleep  more  quickly,  when  listening  to  a  speaker,  than  his 
dwelling  upon  abstract  and  general  things.  Fortunately, 
however,  there  is  a  kind  of  exposition  that  is  not  limited 
to  the  abstract  and  the  general.  Some  of  the  best  writers 
on  exposition  make  this  quite  clear.  To  quote  again  from 
Professor  Fulton  (Expository  Writing,  Introduction,  p. 
xv)  : 

There  are,  however,  some  cases  where  exposition  deals  with 
the  concrete  and  the  individual.  If  one  should  carefully  ex- 
amine a  typewriter,  and  then  write  out  a  full  description  of 
its  parts — keyboard,  type-bars,  carriage,  platen,  ribbon,  index, 
etc. — giving  the  form  and  position  of  each,  and  even  the  ma- 
terial of  which  it  is  made  ...  his  endeavor  would  be  not  so 
much  to  induce  in  the  mind  of  the  reader  a  picture  of  the  type- 
writer and  its  parts  as  to  explain  its  mechanism  and  its  use." 

And  the  same  author,  on  the  following  page,  says  of  such 
examples  as  the  one  just  cited,  that  "They  are  the  in- 
stances in  which  the  general  class,  the  type,  is  represented 
as  an  individual,  and  the  individual  is  made  to  serve  as  a 
type/'  Now  this  is  precisely  the  kind  of  exposition  that 
is  practical  in  public  speaking.  A  speaker  is  often  called 
upon  to  discuss  the  usefulness  of  a  thing,  or  the  principle 
upon  which  it  is  built  or  upon  which  it  operates,  and  yet 
he  knows  that  if  he  is  to  make  his  speech  interesting  and 
effective,  he  must  keep  before  the  audience  a  single,  con- 
crete example.  The  kind  of  exposition  that  lets  the  in- 
dividual example  serve  as  a  type,  a  kind,  a  class,  enables 
the  speaker  to  do  both  of  these  things.  By  showing  the 
audience  how  that  individual  thing  is  constructed  or  how 
it  operates,  the  speaker  easily  holds  the  attention  of  the 
audience  and  at  the  same  time  explains  how  all  things  of 


158      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

the  same  kind  or  class  as  the  one  shown,  are  constructed 
or  operate. 

Conceiving  a  Plan  for  the  Introduction  to  an  Ex- 
pository Speech. — Let  us  first  remember  that  in  this  kind 
of  introduction,  as  in  all  introductions : 

The  fundamental  thing  which  the  speaker  should  at- 
tempt to  do,  is  to  conceive  certain  things  which  he 
believes  the  hearer  has  known  and  enjoyed,  and  to  show 
the  hearer  how  these  things  resemble  the  thing  he  is 
going  to  show  him. 

Just  what  are  you  going  to  show  the  audience  in  a 
speech  in  the  form  of  an  Exposition  ?  We  have  seen  that  a 
speech  is  made  in  this  form  only  when  the  speaker  wishes 
to  explain  the  principle  on  which  the  thing  discussed  is 
constructed  or  the  principle  on  which  that  thing  operates. 
We  have  seen  that  the  speaker's  best  way  to  make  this 
explanation  is  by  describing  the  thing.  It  would  seem, 
then,  that  the  speaker  will  show  the  audience  the  same 
things  in  an  Expository  Speech  as  he  would  in  a  Descrip- 
tive Speech  on  the  same  subject;  and  that  the  same  intro- 
duction should  be  used  for  the  one  as  for  the  other.  There 
is,  however,  an  essential  difference.  In  a  Descriptive 
Speech  the  aim,  or  end  of  the  speaker's  effort,  is  to  show 
the  thing  discussed,  as  it  exists  in  space,  to  show  its  body, 
so  to  speak.  In  an  Expository  Speech,  to  show  the  body 
of  the  thing  discussed,  is  only  a  means  to  an  end.  The 
speaker  brings  before  his  hearers  the  external  form  of  the 
thing  discussed: 

Not  that  they  may  see  it  as  such,  but  that  through  the 
external  form  the  audience  shall  discern  the  inner  life, 
or  principle  of  action,  in  that  thing.  Accordingly,  to 


A  PLAN  FOR  AN  EXPOSITORY  SPEECH         159 

ascertain  what  to  say  in  the  Introduction  to  an  Exposi- 
tory Speech,  the  speaker  must  first  thoroughly  know 
the  principle  of  action  in  the  thing  he  expects  to  dis- 
cuss; and,  secondly,  he  must  conceive  what  principles 
of  action  his  hearers  have  enjoyed  watching  in  opera- 
tion which  are  like  those  he  intends  to  explain.* 

Upon  this  plan,  let  us  conceive  an  Introduction  to  an 
Expository  Speech  on  "The  Panama  Canal."  I.  You  know 
that  everyone,  from  the  small  child  who  takes  a  watch  to 
pieces  because  he  "wants  to  see  the  wheels  go  wound,"  to 
the  most  sedate  adult  among  us,  takes  pleasure  in  watching 
and  learning  the  "how"  of  any  action  that  accomplishes 
unusual  things ;  the  action  of  the  Canal  accomplishes  things 
not  done  elsewhere.  2.  You  know  that  people  are  in- 
tensely interested  in  watching  the  action  of  anything  that 
not  only  does  unusual,  but  also  great,  and  powerful  things. 
The  action  of  the  Canal  which  you  are  about  to  show  to 
your  audience,  lifts  the  largest  vessels  ever  built,  to  a  height 
eighty-five  feet  above  sea-level,  supports  them  at  that  level 
fifty  miles  across  country  and  lets  them  down  in  another 
ocean.  3.  You  know  that  the  interest  of  people  reaches 
its  greatest  height  when  there  is  a  certain  mystery  about 
some  action  that  does  great  and  unusual  things;  so  silent 
and  unseen  is  the  power  of  the  Canal  that  lifts  the  vessels 
and  lowers  them  again,  that  its  work  almost  seems  to  be 
performed  by  magic.  Out  of  some  such  ideas  as  the  three 
double  ones  here  stated,  you  will  find  all  the  Main  Headings 
and  the  Sub-headings  needed  in  the  Introduction.  You  will 
find  it  most  effective  to  state  them  and  arrange  them  in 
one  of  the  ways  outlined  on  pages  142-143. 

Conceiving  a  Plan  for  the  Actual  Theme  of  an  Ex- 


I6O      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

pository  Speech. — We  have  found  that,  in  an  effective 
Expository  Speech,  the  primary  thing  the  speaker  attempts 
is  to  explain  a  general  kind  or  class  of  things,  by  explaining 
to  the  audience  one  particular  thing  of  that  kind.  The 
first  requisite,  then,  in  the  Actual  Theme  of  such  a  speech, 
is  to  make  it  clear  to  the  audience  just  what  kind  of  thing 
you  are  about  to  explain.  In  other  words,  you  should  begin 
with  a  definition  of  the  thing  to  be  explained.  You  wish, 
for  example,  to  explain  the  principle  upon  which  "The 
Panama  Canal"  is  constructed  or  upon  which  it  operates. 
When  you  inquire  what  kind  of  canal  it  is,  you  learn  that 
it  is  an  inter-oceanic  canal,  rising  far  above  sea-level.  You 
will  realize  that,  to  be  successful,  the  Canal  must  have  a 
certain  depth  of  water  at  all  times.  You  will  remember 
the  general  principle  that  water  seeks  its  level,  and  that, 
therefore,  since  this  Canal  rises  far  above  sea-level,  the 
water  filling  it  must  come  from  some  source  other  than 
and  higher  than  the  sea.  You  will  realize  that  this  source 
of  supply  must  necessarily  be  large  since  it  must  fill  a  water- 
way that  will  give  ample  room  for  the  largest  sea-going 
vessels,  and  must  continue  to  provide  this  supply  as  long 
as  the  Canal  shall  last.  Finally,  you  will  realize  that  the 
retaining  walls  of  this  Canal  must  have  tremendous 
strength,  to  hold  such  a  supply  of  water  back ;  and  that  the 
locks  must  be  built  with  great  perfection  to  admit  this 
water-supply  just  as,  and  when,  needed.  When  you  have 
formed  these  ideas  into  a  definition,  this  definition  will 
enable  the  audience  to  see  clearly  just  what  kind  of  thing 
you  are  going  to  explain. 

When  the  subject  has  been  clearly  defined,  in  some  such 
manner  as  we  have  just  suggested,  the  same  four  things 


A  PLAN  FOR  AN  EXPOSITORY  SPEECH          l6l 

must  be  conceived  as  in  the  Actual  Theme  of  a  speech  in 
any  other  form,  namely:  i.  The  Nature  and  Number  of 
Main  Headings;  2.  The  Nature  and  Number  of  Sub-head- 
ings; 3.  The  Nature  and  Number  of  Illustrations;  4.  The 
Order  of  Main  Headings,  Sub-headings,  and  Illustrations. 
To  conceive  these  four  things  in  the  Actual  Theme  of  an 
Expository  Speech  on  "The  Panama  Canal,"  an  effective 
method  will  be  to  take  your  hearers  (in  imagination)  first  to 
the  lake  region,  in  the  central  part  of  the  Isthmus,  whence 
the  canal  reaches  in  one  direction  to  the  Atlantic  and  in 
the  other  to  the  Pacific  ocean.  This  lake,  fed  by  the 
Chagres  River,  and  being  the  immediate  source  of  the 
canal's  supply,  may  well  be  the  subject  of  the  first  Main 
Heading,  after  you  have  defined  the  nature  of  the  canal. 
What  could  show  to  your  audience  the  "working"  of  the 
canal  in  a  more  interesting  way  than  to  take  them  to  one 
side  of  the  lake  where  the  canal  starts  toward  one  of  the 
oceans?  Therefore,  the  outlet  on  the  Atlantic  (or  the 
Pacific)  side  may  well  suggest  the  second  Main  Heading. 
The  physical  divisions  of  the  canal  from  this  point  to  the 
ocean,  will  naturally  furnish  the  other  main  headings  for 
this  side  of  the  canal;  and  a  like  conception  of  the  canal 
from  the  other  side  of  the  lake  to  the  other  ocean,  will 
supply  the  rest  of  the  main  headings.  For  instance,  as  soon 
as  you  have  shown  your  hearers  where  and  how  the  water 
of  the  lake  is  admitted  into  the  canal,  you  naturally  wish 
them  to  understand  through  what  sort  of  a  channel  that 
water  reaches  from  that  point  to  the  first  lock  below.  There- 
fore, that  section  of  the  canal  becomes  a  Main  Heading  of 
your  theme.  When  you  lead  the  minds  of  your  hearers  to 
this  lock,  you  naturally  wish  them  to  understand  why  a 


1 62      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

dam  and  lock  are  necessary  at  this  point  and  also  what  kind 
of  dam  and  lock  are  necessary.  You  readily  conceive  these 
as  the  subject  of  the  next  Main  Heading,  and  so  on  with 
the  other  physical  divisions  of  the  canal  which  you  dis- 
cover on  your  imaginary  trip  with  the  audience. 

Naturally  each  Sub-heading  under  each  of  these  Main 
Headings  will  be  found  by  conceiving,  in  a  similar  manner, 
how  some  smaller  part  of  that  general  division  of  the  canal 
exhibits  its  share  of  the  general  plan  or  principle  of  the 
canal.  For  instance,  under  the  Main  Heading,  ''The  First 
Lock  on  the  Atlantic  Side,"  the  sub-headings  might  be 
as  follows: 

A.  Here  an  immense  dam  and  lock  cross  the  canal. 

1.  The  dam  shows  the  vast  proportions  of   the 

canal. 

Ex.  It  is  ...  feet  wide  at  the  bottom,  .  .  . 
feet  wide  at  the  top,  .  .  .  feet  long,  and 
sustains  a  pressure  of  ...  tons  of  water. 

2.  The  dam  is  made  of  concrete  and  steel. 

B.  In  the  lock  we  see  both  the  strength  of  the  canal  and 

the  skill  of  the  canal. 

1.  Its  mighty  gates  are  .  .  .  feet  wide,  .  .  .  feet 

high,  .  .  .  feet  thick,  and  are  made  of  ... 
material. 

2.  These  gates  not  only  hold  back,  but  also  admit 

the  vast  volume  of  water  at  will.  Ex.  We 
see  them  admit  .  .  .  thousand  gallons  of 
water  a  minute. 

Other  Sub-headings  will  state  the  part  played  by  the  hinges, 
the  valves,  the  walls  connecting  the  two  pairs  of  gates,  etc. 


A  PLAN  FOR  AN  EXPOSITORY  SPEECH          163 

It  is  quite  evident  that  the  illustrations  under  each  of 
these  Sub-headings  will  be  the  final  divisions  of  the  canal 
itself,  except  in  those  instances  where  you  may  think  that 
the  principle  you  are  trying,  at  that  moment,  to  explain,  is 
so  new  to  your  hearers  that  you  feel  you  must  liken  it  to 
some  principle  of  action  with  which  you  believe  the  audience 
is  familiar.  In  such  a  case,  you  must  conceive  some  action 
that  is  well  known  to  your  hearers,  and  must  show  your 
hearers  how  that  action  is  like  the  action  you  wish  to 
explain. 

As  to  the  Order  in  which  the  Main  Headings,  Sub-head- 
ings, and  Illustrations  should  appear  in  such  an  Outline  or 
Plan,  it  is  evident  that  they  should  be  placed  in  the  "natural" 
order  which  we  discussed  on  pages  152-153.  No  other 
order  could  be  so  clear,  so  simple,  or  so  effective  as  the 
plan  of  taking  up  each  part  of  the  thing  discussed,  as  you 
come  to  that  part  on  your  imaginary  trip  with  your  audi- 
ence. Therefore,  take  them  up  exactly  as  you  would  do 
if  you  were  actually  travelling  (and  explaining  as  you  go), 
from  the  point  where  the  principle  of  the  canal  begins  to 
operate,  to  the  last  point  where  that  principle  is  seen  in 
operation. 

After  this  discussion,  the  intending  speaker  may  be  some- 
what confused  as  to  the  difference  between  a  Plan  for  a 
speech  in  the  form  of  a  Description  and  one  in  the  form 
of  an  Exposition.  It  is  quite  evident  that  the  divisions  of 
the  thing  discussed  (the  parts  out  of  which  the  various 
headings  arise)  are  largely  the  same  in  both  kinds  of  out- 
line. The  essential  difference  is  found  in  the  different  con- 
ceptions the  speaker  forms  of  the  same  thing  when  he  is 
only  describing  it  and  when  he  is  explaining  it.  In  a  De- 


164      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

scriptive  Speech,  the  speaker  does  not  start  with  a  definition 
of  the  nature  and  meaning  of  the  thing  discussed.  He 
begins  by  simply  taking  his  audience  (imaginatively)  to 
some  vantage  point  where  his  subject  may  be  viewed  (super- 
ficially, if  you  please),  and  there  he  points  out  those  things 
which  are  most  attractive  to  the  senses.  He  then  turns  the 
attention  of  the  hearer  to  another  section  or  part  of  his 
subject  and  shows  more  things  of  like  nature.  Thus: 

The  headings  in  a  plan  for  a  Descriptive  Speech  are 
simple  statements  of  those  parts  of  the  thing  discussed, 
where  certain  attractive  things  may  be  seen,  heard,  and 
otherwise  sensed.  The  expository  speaker,  on  the  other 
hand,  starting  with  a  clear  definition  of  the  nature  and 
meaning  of  the  thing  discussed,  naturally  has  this  meaning 
in  mind  when  he  turns  his  attention  to  any  one  part  of  that 
thing.  Thus : 

The  headings  in  a  plan  for  an  Expository  Speech  are 
statements  of  what  the  speaker  conceives  each  part  to 
do  toward  making  up  the  nature  and  the  meaning  of  the 
v/hole  thing  discussed. 


A  Plan  for  an  Argumentative  Speech 

Before  we  attempt  to  conceive  a  Plan  for  a  speech  that 
is  to  be  in  the  form  of  Argumentation,  it  may  be  well  to 
examine,  for  a  moment,  the  nature  of  an  argumentative 
subject,  i.  The  subject  must  be  stated  in  the  form  of  a 
proposition.  That  is,  the  statement  of  the  question  should 
bring  before  the  audience,  for  its  consideration,  a  declara- 
tive statement  of  some  definite  scheme  or  plan  of  action. 


A  PLAN  FOR  AN  ARGUMENTATIVE  SPEECH     165 

2.  An  Argumentative  subject  should  be  a  single  proposi- 
tion ;  it  should  bring  before  the  hearers  only  one  single  plan 
of  action.  3.  It  should  be  a  proposition  capable  of  proof; 
it  should  call  for  action  that  has  been  tried  and  proved 
good,  or  for  action  very  similar  to  other  action  that  has  been 
proved  good.  4.  An  Argumentative  subject  should  be  a 
proposition  to  change  existing  conditions.  In  law,  a  person 
is  innocent  until  proven  guilty;  so  in  argumentation  no 
proof  is  required  to  show  that  things  are  right  as  they  now 
exist.  Therefore,  the  speaker  who  would  present  an  argu- 
mentative speech  on  any  subject,  must  attempt  to  show  that 
the  thing  discussed,  as  it  now  exists,  should  be  changed. 
5.  It  should  be  a  proposition  to  change  something  in  which 
the  people  addressed  are  personally  interested. 

These  five  essential  qualities  of  an  argumentative  subject 
may  be  well  illustrated  by  the  subject  we  are  using  for  all 
four  forms  of  speech,  namely,  "The  Panama  Canal."  Stated 
in  those  three  words,  it  would  be  practically  impossible  for 
a  speaker  to  make  a  successful  argumentative  speech  on 
that  subject.  There  is  nothing  definite  for  which  to  argue — 
no  definite  proposal  to  do  anything ;  no  declaration  of  some- 
thing that  should  be  done.  Before  you  can  argue  on  that 
subject,  you  must  get  at  some  single  phase  of  the  owner- 
ship, the  condition,  or  the  use  of  the  Canal,  which  you 
believe  might  profitably  be  changed  from  its  present  status. 
Suppose,  for  instance,  that  your  study  of  the  Canal  has 
convinced  you  that  there  are  vital  reasons  why  the  United 
States  should  own  a  wider  strip  of  land  on  each  side  of 
the  Canal.  Suppose  you  put  this  idea  into  the  single,  ag- 
gressive proposition:  "The  United  States  should  acquire 
more  territory  in  Panama."  You  now  have  met  the  five 


1 66      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

requirements  of  an  argumentative  theme.  This  statement 
of  the  subject  is  a  direct  proposition;  it  calls  for  a  definite 
and  single  action;  it  calls  for  action  similar  to  action  we 
have  already  tried;  it  calls  for  action  in  which  the  people 
addressed  are  vitally  interested;  and  it  calls  for  action  that 
will  change  the  present  status  or  condition  of  the  Canal. 
On  this  subject,  an  effective  argumentative  speech  might 
be  made. 

Conceiving  an  Introduction  to  an  Argumentative 
Speech. — To  give  your  audience  a  pleasing  and  effective 
Introduction  to  this  subject,  you  must  accomplish  four 
things :  ( i )  You  must  show  the  audience  the  exact  mean- 
ing of  the  action  you  propose  when  you  declare  "The 
United  States  should  acquire  more  territory  in  Panama"; 
(2)  you  must  show  the  audience  out  of  what  this  question 
has  arisen;  (3)  you  must  show  the  audience  why  they  are 
personally  interested  in  the  action  your  subject  proposes; 
(4)  you  must  show  the  audience  the  main  issues,  or  points 
of  contention,  to  which  the  proposed  action  gives  rise.  In 
other  words,  you  must  define  the  subject,  tell  its  origin 
and  history  (briefly),  suggest  the  personal  concern  your 
hearers  have  in  the  proposed  change,  and  show  them  the 
issues  to  be  settled. 

To  define  the  stated  subject,  you  must  tell  the  audience 
just  what  you  mean  by  "more  territory" — how  much  more 
and  in  what  part  of  Panama.  Also  what  is  meant  by 
"acquire."  You  will  probably  explain  that  the  proposal 
is  to  purchase  a  strip  of  land  lying  along  each  side  of,  and 
parallel  to,  the  territory  now  owned  by  the  United  States, 
and  known  as  the  "Canal  Zone."  You  may  see  fit  to  propose 
that  the  area  to  be  purchased  should  be  a  strip  wide  enough 


A  PLAN  FOR  AN  ARGUMENTATIVE  SPEECH    167 

to  include  all  the  Gatun  Lake  and  territory  of  a  certain 
width  extending  from  the  lake  to  each  coast.  When  these 
ideas  have  been  made  clear  to  the  audience,  it  would  be 
well  to  "clinch"  the  clearness  by  re-stating  the  question  in 
the  light  of  these  defined  terms.  The  question  re-stated 
would  be  something  like  this :  "The  United  States  should 
widen  its  strip  of  land  in  Panama  known  as  the  'Canal 
Zone/  " 

To  show  the  audience  the  conditions  out  of  which  this 
question  arose,  you  will  probably  first  state  that  the  strip 
of  land  now  owned  was  thought  sufficient  when  it  was  first 
purchased.  You  will  then  wish  your  hearers  to  understand 
that  during  the  process  of  constructing  and  using  the 
Canal,  certain  conditions  have  been  disclosed  which  cause 
many  competent  persons  to  believe  that  the  United  States 
needs  a  wider  zone.  You  may  point  out  that  such  persons 
declare  that  the  desired  sanitary  conditions  in  this  region 
cannot  be  maintained  as  they  should  be,  that  the  Canal 
cannot  be  preserved  from  leakage,  and  that  it  cannot  be  de- 
fended as  securely  as  it  should  be,  until  the  United  States 
has  wider  territory  in  which  to  operate. 

To  secure  the  personal  interest  of  all  who  hear  you,  you 
may  point  out  the  fact  that  this  question  is  their  question. 
The  Canal  is  the  work  and  the  property  of  the  United  States ; 
hence,  everything  that  threatens  its  destruction,  or  lessens 
its  usefulness,  threatens  a  loss  personal  to  every  American. 
On  the  other  hand,  everything  that  will  preserve  the  dur- 
ability and  the  safety  of  the  Canal,  or  bring  it  to  a  higher 
degree  of  usefulness,  is  a  source  of  personal  gain,  and  a 
cause  for  personal  pride,  vital  to  every  American.  You 
will  show  your  hearers  that,  for  these  reasons,  everyone 


1 68      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

who  is  alive  to  his  own  interests  must  be  anxious  to  hear 
the  proofs  that  the  proposed  change,  the  proposed  purchase, 
will  bring  the  benefits  predicted  for  it. 

To  bring  before  the  audience  the  Main  Issues  involved  is 
the  last  and  crowning  act  of  an  effective  Introduction  to  an 
Argumentative  Speech.  To  conceive  these  issues  requires, 
first,  that  two  fundamental  questions  be  answered: 

A.  What  classes  of  persons  will  be  affected  by  the  change 
which  this  subject  proposes? 

B.  How  will  each  of  these  classes  of  persons  be  affected? 
When  you  ask  these  questions  concerning  the  proposal 

that  "The  United  States  should  acquire  more  territory  in 
Panama,"  you  will  probably  find  that  the  principal  classes 
of  persons  or  interests  likely  to  be  affected  by  the  pro- 
posed change,  are:  (i)  The  Government  of  the  United 
States,  (2)  the  tax-payers  of  the  United  States,  (3) 
Panama,  (4)  other  countries  which  use  the  Canal.  You 
will  realize  that  each  of  these  classes  must  be  considered 
separately.  You  will  realize  that: 

Only  by  carefully  examining  the  probable  advantages 
and  disadvantages  which  the  proposed  action  may  bring 
to  each  of  these  classes,  can  you  find  the  main  issues 
which  your  subject  involves. 

An  easy  and  effective  procedure  for  forming  these  con- 
ceptions, is  the  following.  Take  a  full  sheet  of  paper,  and 
across  the  top  state  one  of  the  classes  of  persons  that  will 
be  affected  by  the  proposed  change,  for  example,  "The 
Government  of  the  United  States."  Below  this  statement 
draw  a  line  through  the  middle  of  the  sheet,  from  top  to 
bottom,  dividing  the  sheet  into  left  and  right  halves.  At 
the  top  of  the  left-hand  column  write  "Advantages"  and  at 


A  PLAN  FOR  AN  ARGUMENTATIVE  SPEECH    169 

the  top  of  the  other  write  "Disadvantages."  Under  the 
one  heading  state  all  the  advantages  which  any  fair  and 
broad-minded  person  would  concede  might  reasonably  re- 
sult from  the  action  your  subject  proposes,  to  the  class  of 
persons  you  are  now  considering.  Under  the  other  head- 
ing state  all  the  probable  disadvantages  which  the  proposed 
action  might  bring  to  this  class  of  persons. 

Each  of  these  probable  advantages,  when,  considered 
in  connection  with  its  attendant  disadvantages,  becomes 
a  Minor  Issue. 

When  these  two  groups  of  advantages  and  disadvantages 
have  been  clearly  stated  opposite  one  another,  then,  below 
all  these  statements,  collect  them  all  into  one  interrogative 
sentence  by  asking  if  these  and  these  and  these  (naming 
the  advantages  you  have  enumerated  above)  are  sufficient 
to  outweigh  these  and  these  and  these  (naming  the  disad- 
vantages enumerated).  This  question,  when  stated  in  this 
manner,  brings  clearly  before  you,  and  will  bring  before 
the  audience,  one  of  the  Main  Issues  of  your  subject,  and 
also  the  Minor  Issues  out  of  which  this  Main  Issue  arises. 
Furthermore,  it  sums  up  the  Minor  Issues,  and  enables  you, 
also  the  audience,  to  keep  them  in  mind  every  time  you 
state  this  Main  Issue.  The  others  may  be  found  and  stated 
in  the  same  manner. 

To  make  this  plan  more  concrete,  let  us  consider,  accord- 
ing to  this  plan,  the  first  of  the  classes  of  interests  named 
above,  "The  Government  of  the  United  States."  The  ad- 
vantages which  we  might  reasonably  suppose  the  suggested 
purchase  would  bring  to  the  Government,  are:  I.  It  might 
afford  a  better  opportunity  to  preserve  the  sanitary  con- 
ditions in  the  Canal  Zone.  2.  It  might  enable  the  Govern- 


170      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

ment  to  preserve  the  Canal  by  preventing  leakage.  3.  It 
might  enable  the  Government  to  defend  the  Canal  from 
side-attacks,  as  it  could  not  now  do.  Some  of  the  disad- 
vantages to  be  weighed  against  these  advantages,  are:  I. 
The  purchase  would  probably  cost  the  Government  a  large 
sum  of  money.  2.  The  Government  might  incur  the  ill 
will  of  Panama  and  other  countries  by  acquiring  more 
territory.  3.  The  Government  would  have  the  burden  of 
caring  for  and  defending  this  additional  territory.  When 
these  two  sets  of  statements  have  been  placed  in  the  two 
columns  under  their  respective  heads  of  "Advantages"  and 
"Disadvantages,"  you  will  conclude  your  consideration  of 
this  class  of  interests,  by  collecting  these  opposing  state- 
ments and  forming  them  into  a  question  stated  something 
like  this:  Is  it  reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  advantages 
to  the  United  States  Government,  to  be  gained  through 
better  sanitary  condition  in  the  Canal  Zone,  better  means 
for  preserving  the  Canal  from  leakage,  and  better  oppor- 
tunity to  defend  the  Canal  from  attack,  are  sufficient  to 
outweigh  the  disadvantages  of  the  cost  of  the  additional 
territory,  the  possibility  of  incurring  the  ill  will  of  other 
countries,  and  the  responsibility  of  caring  for  and  defending 
the  new  territory?  This  question  is  a  Main  Issue  arising 
out  of  this  one  class  of  interests.  Each  of  the  other 
classes  of  interests  will  yield  a  like  issue. 

In  the  effort  to  conceive  the  Main  Issues,  the  speaker 
should  avoid  making  any  statements  that  would  arouse  the 
antagonism  of  persons  who  may  hold  opposite  views.  In 
other  words,  the  statements  of  the  possible  advantages  and 
disadvantages  which  the  proposed  action  may  bring,  should 
never  be  aggressive  propositions  calling  for  proof,  but  should 


A  PLAN  FOR  AN  ARGUMENTATIVE  SPEECH    171 

be  such  concessions  as  any  fair-minded  person,  on  either 
side  of  the  question,  might  make.  The  issues  should  not 
be  conceived  for  the  Affirmative  or  for  the  Negative  side  of 
the  subject,  but  for  both  sides.  The  reason  why  this  method 
is  necessary,  is  this:  Unless  all  argument  is  avoided  until 
all  the  Main  Issues  have  been  fully  conceived,  some  of  these 
are  almost  sure  to  be  lost  sight  of  and  the  argument  would 
then  get  shifted  to  minor  points,  and  not  confined  to  the 
real  issues.  The  speaker  who  follows  the  method  here  sug- 
gested, not  only  merges  all  minor  issues  into  the  Main 
Issues  and  causes  the  latter  to  stand  out  clearly  before  the 
audience  in  his  Introduction,  before  he  begins  his  actual 
argument,  but  he  also  causes  the  audience  to  feel  that  he 
has  taken  a  basic  and  broad-minded  view  of  the  subject. 
The  value  of  this  in  making  his  speech  effective,  can  hardly 
be  overestimated. 

When  you  have  fully  conceived  these  four  things:  the 
definition  of  the  subject,  its  origin,  the  peoples'  interest  in  it, 
and  the  issues  arising,  it  only  remains  to  state  these  con- 
ceptions in  such  headings  and  sub-headings  as  may  seem 
most  helpful  to  your  memory  when  you  come  to  speak. 
This  should  make  an  effective  Plan  for  an  Introduction 
to  an  Argumentative  Speech. 

Conceiving  a  Plan  for  the  Actual  Theme  in  an  Argu- 
mentative Speech. — If  the  Introduction  to  an  Argumenta- 
tive Speech  has  been  fully  conceived,  and  if  it  has  ended, 
as  it  should,  in  a  clear  statement  of  the  Main  Issues  in- 
volved in  the  subject  discussed,  the  finding  of  the  Main 
Headings  of  the  Actual  Theme  of  that  speech,  will  be  a 
simple  and  easy  matter.  Each  Main  Issue  will  furnish  its 
own  Main  Heading. 


172      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

The  only  thing  required  to  change  a  clearly  stated 
Main  Issue  into  a  Main  Heading  for  the  Actual  Theme 
of  the  speech,  is  to  state  that  issue  in  the  form  of  a 
short,  aggressive,  declarative  sentence,  setting  forth  the 
thing  which  you  deem  to  be  most  necessary  to  prove 
concerning  that  one  class  of  interests. 

For  instance,  if  you  are  preparing  a  speech  on  the  sub- 
ject "The  United  States  should  acquire  more  territory  in 
Panama,"  and  if  you  have  found  such  a  Main  Issue  as  the 
one  stated  on  page  170,  it  would  become  a  Main  Heading 
when  stated  somewhat  like  this:  i.  "The  best  interests  of 
the  United  States  Government  in  Panama  demand  this 
move."  If  you  have  learned  who  are  the  other  classes  of 
persons  most  likely  to  be  affected  by  the  proposed  govern- 
mental action,  such  classes  as  we  have  suggested  on  page 
168,  when  you  have  conceived  the  Main  Issues  touch- 
ing these  classes,  the  Main  Headings  arising  from  these 
issues  will  be  like  the  following:  II.  The  proposed  plan 
would  be  profitable  to  the  tax-payers  of  the  United  States. 
III.  The  proposed  plan  is  just,  as  affecting  Panama.  IV. 
The  proposed  plan  would  be  beneficial  to  the  other  countries 
which  are  to  use  the  Canal.  These  four  propositions  (or 
four  similar  ones)  should  be  the  Main  Headings  of  the 
Actual  Theme  for  an  Argumentative  Speech  on  "The 
Panama  Canal." 

In  Argumentation,  such  Main  Headings  of  the  Actual 
Theme  are  often  called  Major  Propositions.  Whether  or 
not  we  use  this  name  for  them,  we  should  remember  the 
important  proviso  that  they  must  be  propositions.  They 
must  be  strong,  terse,  lucid  declarations  of  the  main  or 
"major"  things  to  be  proved.  The  Sub-headings  are  often 


A  PLAN  FOR  AN  ARGUMENTATIVE  SPEECH     173 

called  Minor  Propositions  and  Sub-minor  Propositions. 
Whether  or  not  we  accept  these  names,  we  should  observe 
the  fact  that  these  also  must  be  propositions.  Each  Sub- 
heading must  be  a  strong,  terse,  clear  declaration  of  some- 
thing tending  to  prove  the  Main  Heading  under  which  it 
occurs.  In  other  words,  mere  topics  (phrases  containing 
no  verbs)  have  absolutely  no  place  in  an  outline  for  an 
argumentative  speech.  The  reason  for  this  is  easy  to  per- 
ceive. Each  moment  a  speaker  is  presenting  an  argumenta- 
tive theme  to  an  audience,  he  should  keep  before  himself 
and  before  his  hearers  two  things:  (i)  The  particular 
thing  he  is,  at  that  moment,  trying  to  prove;  (2)  just  how 
much  he  is  doing  at  this  moment  to  prove  that  particular 
thing.  If  the  thought  in  the  mind  of  the  speaker,  when  he 
makes  his  outline,  is  put  down  in  the  form  of  a  mere  topic, 
containing  no  declaration,  the  chances  are  that  when  he 
comes  to  speak  from  that  outline  he  will  lapse  into  a 
rambling  talk  on  that  point  instead  of  giving  direct  and 
convincing  proof.  Therefore : 

Every  heading,  of  whatever  rank,  in  the  Actual  Theme 
of  an  Argumentative  Speech,  should  be  a  direct  proposi- 
tion. 

When  we  consider  carefully  the  Sub-headings  in  the  Plan 
for  the  Actual  Theme  of  an  Argumentative  Speech,  we  find 
that  they  are  of  three  or  more  kinds  or  classes  according 
to  their  relative  importance.  These  classes  we  may  call 
Sub-headings  of  first  rank,  of  the  second  rank,  of  the  third 
rank,  and  so  on.  Sub-headings  of  the  first  rank  arise  out  of 
the  Minor  Issues  just  as  Main  Headings  arise  out  of  the 
Main  Issues.  Just  as  we  found  concerning  a  Main  Issue 
(p.  172),  so: 


174      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

With  a  Minor  Issue  the  only  thing  required  to  change 
a  clearly  stated  Minor  Issue  into  a  Sub-heading  of  the 
First  Rank,  is  to  state  that  issue  in  the  form  of  a  short, 
aggressive,  declarative  sentence. 

We  have  found  (p.  169),  that  a  Minor  Issue  arises  when 
we  consider  a  probable  advantage  which  the  proposed  move 
may  bring,  together  with  the  attendant  disadvantages.  Sup- 
pose you  are  preparing  a  speech  on  the  subject,  "The 
United  States  should  acquire  more  territory  in  Panama," 
and  suppose  you  are  trying  to  conceive  the  Sub-headings 
under  the  Main  Heading,  'The  best  interests  of  the  United 
States  Government  in  Panama  demand  this  move."  When 
you  have  carefully  considered  the  probable  advantages  and 
the  attendant  disadvantages  (enumerated  on  page  169-170), 
which  the  proposed  purchase  might  bring  to  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  United  States,  then,  out  of  the  three  Minor 
Issues  thus  found,  will  easily  arise  three  Sub-headings  of 
the  First  Rank.  They  will  be  stated  somewhat  like  this: 
I.  The  health  of  those  who  live  in  the  Canal  Zone  demands 
this  move.  II.  The  preservation  of  the  Canal  demands  it. 
III.  The  defense  of  the  Canal  demands  it. 

Observe  the  difference  between  each  of  these  Sub-head- 
ings of  the  First  Rank  and  the  Main  Heading  under  which 
it  occurs.  The  Main  Heading  declared  something  concern- 
ing one  general  class  of  interests.  Each  of  these  Sub- 
headings of  the  First  Rank  declares  that  same  thing  con- 
cerning some  smaller  part  of  that  general  class  of  interests. 
This  should  make  clear  the  purpose  of  each  of  these  sub- 
headings. Its  purpose  is  to  bring  before  the  mind  of  the 
listener  something  he  can  more  easily  see  than  he  could 
see  the  effect  which  the  action  you  propose  might  have  on 


A  PLAN  FOR  AN  ARGUMENTATIVE  SPEECH    175 

the  entire  class  of  interests,  if  the  entire  class  were  presented 
at  once. 

Sub-headings  of  the  Second  Rank  and  of  the  Third 
Rank  are  different  in  nature  from  those  of  the  First  Rank. 
Each  Sub-heading  of  the  First  Rank,  just  as  each  Main 
Heading,  declares  something  to  be  proved.  Each  Sub- 
heading of  the  Second  and  Third  Rank,  on  the  contrary, 
presents  its  part  of  the  process  of  proof. 

Each  Sub-Heading  of  the  Second  Rank,  in  an  Argu- 
mentative Theme,  should  set  forth  the  general  principle 
on  which  the  Sub-heading  of  the  First  Rank,  under  which 
it  occurs,  is  to  be  proved.  Each  sub-heading  of  the 
Third  Rank  should  set  forth  the  specific  manner  in  which 
the  general  principle  of  proof  applies  to  the  question  at 
issue. 

To  make  these  ideas  more  concrete,  let  us  apply  them 
to  one  of  the  three  Sub-headings  of  the  First  Rank  con- 
sidered in  the  fourth  paragraph  above.  Under  Sub-head- 
ing marked  I,  declaring  that  "The  health  of  those  who  live 
in  the  Canal  Zone  demands  this  move,"  the  Sub-heading  of 
the  Second  Rank  might  be:  The  witnesses  most  com- 
petent to  testify  on  this  point  are  the  physicians  who  in- 
vestigated the  conditions.  (This  declares  the  general 
principle  on  which  you  expect  to  prove  the  point,  namely, 
the  principle  of  "the  most  credible  witness/*)  Under  this 
Sub-heading  of  the  Second  Rank,  the  Sub-heading  of  the 
Third  Rank  might  be:  These  men  declare  the  health  of 
the  Canal  Zone  demands  the  proposed  purchase.  (This 
shows  the  specific  manner  in  which  the  principle  of  proof 
on  which  you  depend,  applies  to  this  phase  of  the  ques- 
tion.) Or  under  this  same  Sub-heading  of  the  First  Rank, 


176      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

the  sub-heading  of  the  Second  Rank  might  be:  The  Gov- 
ernment can  eradicate  disease  centers  only  in  territory 
under  its  immediate  control,  and  the  Sub-heading  of  the 
Third  Rank  might  be:  The  principal  sources  of  the 
diseases  which  harass  the  Canal  Zone  lie  ki  the  ter- 
ritory we  propose  to  purchase.  Here,  as  you  see,  the 
principle  of  proof  is  different.  In  the  last  method  you  do 
not  depend  primarily  on  the  strength  of  the  testimony  you 
find,  but  rather  on  some  general  law  of  action  which  will 
be  apparent  to  the  hearer  when  stated,  and  which,  if  it  be 
found  to  apply  to  the  question  at  issue,  will  make  the  pro- 
posed move  seem  desirable.  Then,  in  this  last  method,  in 
the  Sub-heading  of  the  Third  Rank,  you  set  forth  the 
manner  in  which  this  general  law  of  action  (which  you 
have  stated  in  the  Sub-heading  of  the  Second  Rank)  applies 
in  the  question  under  discussion. 

One  or  the  other  of  these  two  methods,  either  (a)  con- 
ceiving the  most  credible  witnesses  and  then  declaring 
their  attitude  on  the  question,  or  (b)  conceiving  the 
general  law  of  action  most  concerned  and  then  declaring 
the  bearing  of  this  law  on  the  issue  considered,  will 
usually  be  found  the  simplest  and  most  satisfactory  way 
in  which  to  conceive  the  Sub-headings  of  the  Second  and 
Third  Rank. 

When  we  attempt  to  conceive  appropriate  and  effective 
Illustrations  for  an  Argumentative  Theme,  we  find  that 
those  illustrations  are  always  most  effective  which  are  found 
in  the  theme  itself.  It  must  be  borne  constantly  in  mind, 
that: 

Every  proposition  made  in  an  Argumentative  Theme 
calls  for  evidence.  The  Illustrations  should  furnish  this 


A  PLAN  FOR  AN  ARGUMENTATIVE  SPEECH    177 

evidence.  Under  every  Sub-heading  of  the  Third  Rank 
should  be  cited  some  cases  illustrating  and  proving  the 
thing  declared  in  that  sub-heading. 

If  the  Sub-heading  of  the  Third  Rank  is  of  the  kind  first 
suggested  in  the  third  paragraph  above,  declaring  that  com- 
petent testimony  favors  the  move  for  which  you  argue,  the 
illustrations  should  be:  A  ...  favors  it;  B  ...  favors 
it ;  C  .  .  .  favors  it,  etc.,  naming  the  men  whose  testimony 
has  been  read  or  heard  by  the  speaker.  If  the  Sub-heading 
of  the  Third  Rank  is  of  the  second  kind  suggested  in  the 
third  paragraph  above,  declaring  that  a  certain  law  of  action 
applies  to  the  issue  considered,  the  illustrations  should  set 
forth  actual  cases  in  which  the  law  does  apply.  For  in- 
stance, under  the  Sub-heading  "The  principal  sources  of 
diseases  which  harass  the  Canal  Zone,  lie  in  the  territory 
we  propose  to  purchase,"  the  illustrations  should  be:  "In 
.  .  .  section  yellow- fever  germs  abound";  "in  .  .  .  sec- 
tion malaria  is  rife,"  etc. 

The  next  important  thing  to  be  observed  regarding  the 
illustrations  in  an  Argumentative  Theme,  is  that: 

After  every  illustration  cited,  your  outline  should  con- 
tain a  statement  of  the  source  from  which  the  illustra- 
tion is  taken,  naming  title,  volume,  and  page. 

If  the  source  is  not  a  well-known  and  reliable  one,  then 
a  hint  should  also  be  inserted  in  the  outline,  as  to  why  you 
deem  the  source  a  reliable  one.  The  reason  for  this  is  ap- 
parent. The  final  and  actual  proof  of  practically  every 
issue  you  raise  in  an  Argumentative  Speech,  depends  on 
the  credibility  of  the  witnesses  quoted.  For  this  reason, 
you  must  tell  the  audience  who  said  each  thing  which  you 


178      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

present  as  a  statement  of  fact,  and  make  it  clear  why  this 
person's  testimony  is  strong. 

As  to  the  Order  in  which  the  Main  Headings,  Sub-head- 
ings, and  Illustrations  should  occur,  only  one  thing  need 
be  said.  The  strongest  Main  Heading,  the  one  you  feel 
will  make  the  greatest  appeal  to  the  audience,  should  be 
placed  last;  for  the  ending  of  your  speech  should  be  the 
strongest  of  all.  The  second  strongest  Main  Heading 
should  be  placed  first;  for  the  second  best  impression 
should  be  made  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  speech.  The 
weaker  Main  Headings,  if  there  must  be  weaker  ones, 
should  be  placed  between  the  first  and  the  last.  The  same 
principle  holds  true  in  the  arrangement  of  the  Sub-headings, 
and  of  the  Illustrations.  Determine  to  form  such  a  plan 
for  your  speech,  that  the  beginning  of  the  whole  speech  and 
also  the  beginning  of  every  division  and  sub-division  shall 
be  strong  and  the  ending  of  each  shall  be  still  stronger. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  you  cannot  complete  a  Plan  for  an 
Argumentative  Speech  until  you  have  both  studied  the 
theme  thoroughly  and  read  much  upon  it.  This  should  not 
lead  you  to  the  false  conclusion,  however,  that,  since  you 
cannot  complete  the  Plan  for  the  Actual  Theme  until  you 
have  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  subject  you  expect  to 
discuss,  therefore,  you  will  not  begin  work  upon  your  out- 
line until  that  time.  Such  a  conclusion  would  be  a  vital 
mistake.  You  need  a  Plan  for  your  Actual  Theme  before 
you  begin  to  read,  to  enable  you  to  decide  wisely  what  to 
read  on  this  subject.  You  need  a  Plan  for  your  Actual 
Theme  all  the  time  you  are  reading ,  to  enable  you  to  know 
the  value  of  each  article  you  read  on  your  subject,  and 
just  where  to  apply  it  in  your  intended  speech.  Therefore, 


A  PLAN  FOR  AN  ARGUMENTATIVE  SPEECH    179 

complete  the  entire  outline  as  far  as  possible  at  the  begin- 
ning of  your  work,  then  fill  it  in  and  change  it  as  it  may 
seem  best  to  do  during  the  progress  of  your  reading. 

Conceiving  a  Plan  for  the  Conclusion  to  an  Argumenta- 
tive Speech. — Before  you  attempt  to  make  an  outline  for 
the  Conclusion,  first  form  a  clear  conception  of  just  where 
you  now  are  in  your  speech.  Throughout  your  speech, 
you  divided,  into  several  groups,  the  people  likely  to  be 
affected  by  the  action  for  which  you  are  arguing,  so  that 
you  might  bring  these  groups,  one  at  a  time,  before  the 
minds  of  your  hearers.  Before  you  end  your  speech,  you 
must  again  return  to  the  thing  you  set  out  to  do,  namely, 
to  show  the  audience  that  the  proposed  action  is  desirable 
for  all  the  people  concerned.  That  is,  your  Conclusion 
must  bring  before  the  hearers  a  condensed  picture  of  the 
many  smaller  pictures  you  have  been  showing  them,  must 
do  this  in  a  few  moments,  and  must  make  this  condensed 
picture  the  strongest  part  of  the  speech. 

This  can  be  accomplished  most  effectively  by  reversing 
the  order.  In  other  words,  instead  of  stating  a  proposition 
concerning  an  entire  class  of  persons  and  then  proceeding 
gradually  to  the  individual  cases  proving  the  proposition, 
as  you  did  in  the  Actual  Theme,  begin  now  with  the  in- 
dividual case.  Again  show  the  audience  the  evidence  that 
the  action  for  which  you  plead  will  be  beneficial  in  this 
case  and  this  one  and  this  one.  Then  show  that  these 
cases,  taken  together,  comprise  the  whole  of  a  certain  class, 
and  that,  therefore,  the  proposed  action  will  benefit  the 
entire  class.  When  this  has  been  done  in  turn  with  each 
of  the  smaller  classes  comprising  a  larger  class,  show,  in 
like  manner,  that  these  things  make  the  proposed  action 


ISO      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

seem  desirable  for  that  larger  class.  When  all  of  the  larger 
groups  have  been  treated  separately,  show  how  they,  all 
together,  are  the  whole  group  of  persons  likely  to  be  af- 
fected by  the  proposed  action,  and  since 'that  action  has 
proved  itself  good  for  the  separate  groups  that,  together, 
make  up  the  whole,  it  must  be  good  for  the  whole. 

With  this  conception  in  mind,  the  Plan  for  the  Con- 
clusion to  an  Argumentative  Speech  becomes  simple  enough. 
It  will  be  a  condensed  re-statement  of  the  most  effective 
of  the  arguments  already  used  under  each  Main  Heading, 
but,  as  we  have  said,  arranged  in  reverse  order.  The  order 
of  the  Main  Headings  will  remain  the  same  as  it  was  in  the 
Actual  Theme  and  for  the  same  reasons. 

Experiments  in  Conceiving  a  Plan  for  an  Expository 
Speech  and  for  an  Argumentative  Speech 

1.  Perform  the  experiment  of  conceiving  and  stating  an 
adequate  Plan  for  an  Expository  Speech,  on  an  appropriate 
subject,  observing  the  principles  stated  in  the  above  discus- 
sion on  A  Plan  for  an  Expository  Speech. 

2.  Conceive  and  state  an  adequate  Plan  for  an  Argu- 
mentative Speech,  fulfilling  the  requirements  found  in  the 
above  discussion  on  A  Plan  for  an  Argumentative  Speech. 

These  plans  should  be  written  and  brought  to  class  for 
class-discussion  and  criticism,  preliminary  to  the  work  of 
preparing  speeches  on  these  subjects. 

As  stated  at  the  close  of  the  last  chapter,  it  will  save 
time  and  labor  if  the  same  subject  is  used  for  the  different 
forms  of  speech,  until  the  student  has  performed  a  suffi- 
cient number  of  experiments  to  give  him  a  working  knowl- 
edge of  all  four  forms  of  speech. 


CHAPTER  IX 
CONCEPTION-FORMING   IN    ORIGINAL    SPEECH 

Conceiving  the   Final   Preparation  Which  the   Subject 

Requires 

WHEN  the  speaker  has  performed  the  preliminary  work 
outlined  in  Chapters  VI,  VII,  and  VIII,  he  is  then  ready 
to  conceive  the  definite  preparation  the  subject  still  requires 
after  the  Plan  has  been  formed.  This  final  preparation 
should  be  of  four  general  classes :  thinking,  reading,  writ- 
ing, and  speaking.  There  is  a  saying,  that  he  who  would 
speak  well  must  read,  must  read  much,  must  read  very 
much.  This  is  good  advice,  but  will  not  be  very  effective 
unless  the  reading  be  preceded  by  the  practice  of  another 
caution,  namely,  that  he  who  would  speak  well  must  think, 
must  think  much,  must  think  very  much.  The  requirement 
is  admirably  put  in  this  striking  adage:  "Never  attempt  to 
read  till  you  have  thought  yourself  hungry;  never  attempt 
to  write  till  you  have  read  yourself  full."  Substitute  the 
word  "speak"  for  "write"  here  and  you  have  an  effective 
recipe  for  the  final  preparation  needed  in  most  efforts  in 
original  speaking. 

How  much  of  this  final  preparation  should  there  be,  and 
how  much  of  each  of  the  four  kinds — thinking,  reading, 
writing,  and  speaking  ?  This  will  depend  first  on  the  nature 
of  the  subject  to  be  discussed;  secondly,  on  the  speaker's 

181 


1 82      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

knowledge  of  that  subject;  thirdly,  on  the  amount  of  read- 
ing matter  available  on  the  subject;  fourthly,  on  the 
speaker's  purpose  in  presenting  that  subject;  fifthly,  on  the 
literary  style  of  the  speech  (whether  primarily  Narration, 
Description,  Exposition,  or  Argumentation)  ;  sixthly,  on 
the  style  of  delivery  in  which  the  speech  is  to  be  presented. 
A  very  simple  description  or  narration  may  require  little 
final  preparation;  but  if  a  subject  is  a  large  one,  of  which 
the  speaker  has  little  personal  knowledge,  especially  if  it 
is  to  be  presented  in  the  form  of  Exposition  or  Argumenta- 
tion, for  the  purpose  of  convincing  or  persuading  the 
audience,  to  prepare  an  effective  speech  on  such  a  subject 
will  require  much  preparation  after  the  Plan  of  speech 
has  been  conceived. 


Conceiving  What  Kinds  of  Articles  to  Read 

Before  beginning  to  read,  form  so  clear  a  conception  of 
the  kind  or  kinds  of  information  you  would  like  to  get 
on  your  subject,  and  form  also  so  clear  a  conception  of  the 
particular  help  you  believe  that  information  will  give  you 
in  making  your  speech  more  effective,  that  you  become 
actually  hungry  for  something  to  read  on  the  subject.  When 
this  has  been  done,  the  next  essential  step  is  to  conceive 
clearly  what  to  read.  This  will  depend  on  two  things: 
I.  What  reading-matter  is  available?  2.  What  kinds  of 
available  articles  are  demanded  by  the  particular  kind  of 
speech  contemplated?  To  answer  the  first  question,  con- 
sult the  best  librarian  who  is  near,  and,  with  his  assistance, 
make  a  careful  list  of  all  the  books  and  articles  in  his 


CONCEIVING  WHAT  KINDS  OF  ARTICLES  TO  READ    183 

library,  which  bear  directly  on  your  subject.  If  not  enough 
of  these  are  available,  it  may  be  necessary  to  include  in 
your  list,  articles  that  bear  indirectly  on  the  subject.  To 
find  these,  conceive  the  various  ways  in  which  your  subject 
might  be  stated,  and  then  search  for  appropriate  articles 
on  each  of  the  subjects  thus  suggested. 

To  conceive  which  of  the  articles,  of  all  those  you  have 
found  available  and  have  listed,  are  most  worth  your  while 
in  preparing  for  the  particular  speech  you  expect  to  make 
on  the  subject  chosen,  depends,  of  course,  on  the  form  of 
the  projected  speech.  Each  of  the  four  forms,  Narration, 
Description,  Exposition,  and  Argumentation  will  demand 
its  own  kind  of  reading-matter,  i.  Narration.  If  you  wish 
to  make  a  Narrative  Speech,  to  tell  the  life's  story  of  your 
subject,  the  most  important  articles  to  read  are  obviously 
those  which  disclose  the  origin  of  the  thing  discussed  and 
the  principal  things  which  have  transpired  in  the  growth  of 
that  thing.  2.  If  you  contemplate  a  Descriptive  Speech, 
you  should  read  every  article  you  can  that  will  get  you 
into  the  "atmosphere"  of  the  thing  discussed.  Read  the 
writings  of  the  persons  who  have  been  in  the  presence  of  the 
thing  you  wish  to  describe,  and  whose  writings  point  out  the 
most  important  and  striking  characteristics  of  that  thing 
and  also  of  the  things  immediately  surrounding  it  and  con- 
nected with  it.  3.  If  you  expect  to  make  an  Expository 
Speech,  naturally  the  most  valuable  articles  to  read  are 
those  written  upon  your  subject  by  persons  who  have  made 
a  scientific  study  of  the  principle  on  which  the  thing  you 
expect  to  discuss,  is  constructed,  or  on  which  it  operates, 
or  both.  4.  If  your  speech  is  to  be  tin  the  form  of  Argu- 
mentation, if  you  are  to  argue  in  favor  of  a  certain  prin- 


184      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

ciple  or  course  of  action,  no  article  you  may  read  is 
of  great  value  to  you  in  preparing  for  your  speech, 
unless  that  article  contains,  in  some  form,  convincing 
proof. 

Most  effective  speeches  are  Argumentative.  Some  are 
not  wholly  so,  but  almost  always  argument  is  their  principal 
feature,  with  Narration,  Description,  and  Exposition  em- 
ployed as  a  means  of  making  the  argument  more  effective. 
For  this  reason,  we  must  give  our  special  attention  to  the 
question,  what  constitutes  convincing  proof?  If  we  should 
define  it  by  its  effectiveness,  we  would  say  that  convincing 
proof  of  any  proposition,  is  anything,  or  set  of  things,  that 
causes  the  hearer  both  to  see  and  to  admit  the  desirability 
of  the  thing  proposed.  Careful  investigation  will  reveal  the 
fact  that  there  are  just  two  general  classes  of  things  which 
can  do  this.  We  can  cause  the  hearer  to  see  the  desira- 
bility of  anything  for  which  we  argue,  (i)  by  bringing 
before  him  undeniable  evidence  that  the  thing  we  propose 
has  proved  itself  desirable  in  the  past;  (2)  by  bringing 
before  him  undeniable  evidence  that  a  certain  other  thing 
has  proved  itself  desirable,  that  is  so  similar  to  the  thing 
for  which  we  argue,  that  the  hearer  can  easily  imagine  the 
same  result  from  the  thing  we  propose.  Everything  read 
in  preparation  for  an  Argumentative  Speech,  should  con- 
tain evidence  of  one  or  the  other  or  both  of  these  kinds. 
Mere  statements  and  opinions  of  a  writer  are  of  little 
or  no  worth.  To  be  worth  while,  an  argumentative 
article  should  contain  facts  illustrating  the  principle  for 
which  you  argue  and  should  show  why  those  facts  are 
reliable. 


CONCEIVING  HOW  TO  READ  ARTICLES  FOUND       185 


Conceiving  How  to  Read  Articles  Found 

The  time  is  usually  limited  that  a  speaker  has  in  which 
to  prepare  a  speech.  For  this  reason,  it  is  highly  im- 
portant to  get,  in  the  shortest  possible  time,  the  largest 
possible  benefit  from  every  article  read.  How  often  students 
have  come  to  the  author  with  long  lists  of  articles  they 
have  read,  and,  laying  these  down,  have  said  in  anguish, 
"I  spent  my  entire  time  reading  these  and  got  no  help 
from  them."  To  avoid  this  pathetic  result,  the  speaker 
must  conceive  clearly  how  to  read.  Before  beginning  to 
read  any  article,  have  clearly  in  mind  what  kind  of  help  you 
hope  to  get  from  it.  For  example,  if  you  are  preparing 
for  an  argumentative  speech,  you  probably  wish  to  get 
statistics  showing  how  many  persons  have  been  affected 
by  the  principle  for  which  you  argue;  or  you  wish  to  find 
the  testimony,  of  the  author  you  are  reading,  concerning 
things  which  he  himself  has  witnessed;  or  you  wish  to 
collect  the  quotations  he  makes  from  the  testimony  of 
others;  or  you  wish  to  find  the  instances  he  cites  where 
the  principles  for  which  you  argue,  have  been  applied. 

When  you  have  formed  a  clear  conception  of  the  kinds  of 
help  that  you  are  to  seek,  are  you  ready  to  read?  No,  not 
yet.  First  scan  each  article,  to  find  out  whether  the  things 
for  which  you  seek  are  in  it.  This  can  be  done  in  one- 
tenth  the  time  necessary  to  read  the  entire  writing.  When 
the  seeker's  mind  is  well  centered  on  the  things  sought,  his 
eye  can  be  trained  to  run  through  a  dozen  pages  a  minute, 
and  yet  discover  whether  those  things  are  there.  If  they 
are  not  there,  the  article  should  be  passed  by  at  once — 


1 86      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

marked  off  the  list  of  references.  If  they  are  there, 
immediately  read  the  article  and  take  careful  notes  on  it. 

This  art  of  note-taking  is  also  a  mightily  important  ad- 
junct of  the  reading  one  should  do  to  prepare  for  a  speech. 
The  highest  success  in  this  effort  depends  principally  on 
three  things,  i.  Effective  notes  depend  on  the  note-taker's 
clear  conception  of  the  things  important  to  note;  2.  They 
depend  on  the  equipment  for  taking  notes ;  3.  They  depend 
on  the  plan  by  which  the  notes  are  made. 

We  have  already  seen  that  a  clear  conception  of  the 
things  most  important  to  note,  depends  on  the  reader's 
having  and  keeping  clearly  in  mind  the  kinds  of  help  for 
which  he  seeks.  As  to  the  equipment  for  taking  notes,  the 
card  system  is,  by  far,  the  most  satisfactory.  The  old 
method  of  using  a  note-book  with  bound  leaves,  and  taking 
several  promiscuous  notes  on  one  page,  is  highly  unsatis- 
factory. Much  time  is  lost  in  turning  pages  back  and 
forth  in  a  wearisome,  if  not  vain,  effort  to  find  and  arrange 
the  notes  that  have  been  taken  in  this  way.  Worse  than 
this,  the  mind  of  the  speaker  is  confused  and  worried  by 
the  notes  taken  in  that  manner,  whereas  it  can  be  cleared, 
organized,  and  composed  by  notes  which  are  taken  by  the 
card-system.  To  use  this  system,  provide  yourself  with  a 
good  fountain-pen  or  a  sharp  pencil,  a  small  pad  (about 
two-thirds  as  large  as  a  post  card)  with  detachable  leaves 
of  good,  firm  paper ;  and  a  pocketful  of  clips  for  fastening 
together  the  related  leaves  after  the  notes  have  been  taken. 

You  will  quickly  conceive  the  best  plan  by  which  to  take 
notes  under  the  card-system,  if  you  will  ask  yourself  how 
you  hope  to  be  able  to  use  your  notes.  I.  You  will  wish  to 
find  one  point  and  only  one  at  a  time.  2.  You  want  to  be 


CONCEIVING  HOW  MUCH  WRITING  IS  REQUIRED    187 

able  to  see  at  a  glance  just  where  that  point  belongs  in  the 
Plan  for  your  speech.  3.  You  will  wish  to  know  at  a 
glance  just  where  you  got  that  point,  so  that  you  may  tell 
your  audience,  if  you  think  best,  and  also  that  you  may 
quickly  turn  again  to  the  source  at  any  time  when  you  may 
wish  to  refresh  your  memory.  That  you  may  find  each 
point  standing  alone  in  your  notes,  make  only  one  note  on 
each  card.  To  know  at  a  glance  just  where  each  point  be- 
longs in  your  speech-plan,  place,  at  the  top  of  each  card,  the 
Main  Heading  in  your  Speech-Plan  under  which  that  point 
should  go.  (To  do  this  most  successfully  requires  that 
you  commit  to  memory  the  Main  Headings  of  the  Plan 
before  you  begin  to  read.)  To  be  able  to  know  at  a  glance 
just  where  you  got  each  note,  write,  at  the  bottom  of  each 
card,  under  the  note  you  have  taken,  the  name  of  the 
author  of  the  article  (if  his  name  is  given)  and  the  volume 
and  page  from  which  you  took  it. 

Conceiving  How  Much  Writing  the  Final  Preparation 

Requires 

To  take  notes  as  they  should  be  taken,  on  every  article 
worth  reading,  requires  a  considerable  amount  of  writing. 
Nothing  should  be  left  to  the  memory  while  the  reading 
is  being  done,  for  the  entire  mind  should  be  given  to 
vigorous  and  rapid  search  for  material.  Time  should  be 
saved  by  making  each  notation  as  brief  as  possible.  Yet 
the  exact  meaning  of  the  article  should  be  made  as  clear 
as  possible  in  the  notation ;  and,  if  the  exact  language  used 
in  the  point  noted,  is  important,  the  exact  words  should  be 
quoted,  and  quotation  marks  should  be  used. 


1 88      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

But  when  copious  notes  have  been  taken,  is  this  all  the 
writing  which  the  preparation  of  a  speech  requires?  No, 
usually  some  more  and  sometimes  niuch  more  writing  is 
necessary  to  build  the  most  effective  speech.  For  practically 
every  speech  the  speaker  should  at  least  do  this  much  writ- 
ing after  his  note-taking  is  completed:  He  should  tran- 
scribe to  his  Outline  every  important  note  he  has  taken, 
placing  each  point  under  the  Sub-heading  which  it  supports, 
and  distinctly  writing  after  it  the  source  from  which  he 
took  it. 

Whether,  when  this  has  been  done,  still  further  writing 
is  needed,  will  depend  principally  on  two  things.  I.  It 
depends  on  the  individuality  of  the  intending  speaker.  2. 
It  depends  on  the  style  of  delivery  in  which  the  speech  is 
to  be  presented.  The  individuality  of  persons  makes  it 
practically  necessary  for  some  to  write  carefully  the  entire 
speech,  while  for  others  this  is  not  at  all  necessary.  Sup- 
pose that  the  speaker  finds  it  difficult  to  keep  his  notes  well 
arranged  in  his  mind;  he  cannot  present  the  points  in  the 
exact  order  in  which  he  wishes  to  present  them.  Or  sup- 
pose the  speaker  finds  himself  leaving  out  important  things 
or  saying  things  which  he  afterward  wishes  he  had  not 
said.  In  all  such  cases,  it  is  advisable  to  write  every  speech 
in  full  until  a  firm,  orderly  method  or  habit  of  mind  has 
been  formed;  for  "writing  maketh  the  exact  mind."  But 
if  the  individual  speaker  finds  himself  able  to  hold  all  his 
notes  in  mind  in  good  order,  and  if  he  can  keep  clear  in 
mind  the  relationship  of  everything  to  be  said,  it  may  not 
be  necessary  or  even  advisable  for  such  a  speaker  to  write 
his  speech. 

The  amount  of  writing  which  each  of  the  several  styles  of 


THE  AMOUNT  OF  PRACTICE  REQUIRED         189 

delivery  requires,  we  shall  consider  presently  in  connection 
with  the  amount  of  practice  required. 


Conceiving  the  Amount  of  Practice  Required 

How  much  should  a  speaker  practice  his  speech  before 
he  presents  it  to  the  audience?  This  depends  principally 
on  the  style  of  delivery  in  which  the  speech  is  to  be  pre- 
sented. Before  we  can  form  a  clear  conception  of  the 
exact  practice  needed  for  any  individual  speech,  therefore, 
we  must  first  understand  what  the  different  styles  of  de- 
livery are  and  what  is  the  nature  of  each. 

There  are  six  distinct  styles  of  delivery.  These  are 
(i)  the  impromptu  style;  (2)  the  extempore  style;  (3) 
the  partially  extempore  and  partially  reading  style;  (4) 
the  partially  extempore  and  partially  memoriter  style; 
(5)  the  reading  style;  and  (6)  the  memoriter  style. 

I.  The  Impromptu  Style  of  Delivery. — In  the  strictest 
sense  of  the  term  (which  signifies  that  the  person  speaking 
in  this  manner  has  not  made  any  preparation,  of  any  kind, 
on  the  subject  on  which  he  speaks)  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  impromptu  speaking.  If  the  speaker  had  not,  some- 
time, gathered  facts  and  ideas  which  he  feels  he  can  use 
on  the  subject  on  which  he  attempts  to  speak,  then  he 
certainly  would  have  nothing  to  say  on  that  subject.  All 
gathering  of  material,  no  matter  how  remote  from  the  time 
of  using  it  in  actual  speaking,  is,  of  course,  a  general  and 
indirect  preparation  for  the  speech  in  which  it  is  used. 
Those  who  say  that  they  speak  without  preparation,  how- 
ever, mean  that  they  have  made  no  direct,  special  prepara- 
tion for  the  speech  in  question.  Such  a  claim  is,  in  itself, 


I9O      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

sufficient  proof  that  this  style  of  speaking  has  no  place  in 
the  education  of  the  speaker.  We  study  the  science  of 
speech  that  we  may  grow  in  speech-ability.  Surely  the 
speaker  cannot  expect  to  grow  who  neither  conceives 
definitely  what  he  is  going  to  do  the  next  time  he  speaks, 
nor  attempts  to  improve  upon  what  he  did  the  last  time 
he  spoke.  It  is  evident  that  the  speaker  who  speaks  really 
impromptu  can  do  neither  of  these  things.  We  may,  there- 
fore, pass  the  impromptu  style  by  as  unworthy  of  our 
attention. 

2.  The  Extempore  Style  of  Delivery. — Formerly  there 
was  little  difference  between  the  terms  impromptu  and  ex- 
tempore. Most  persons  understood  them  to  mean  the  same 
thing.  To-day  this  is  not  the  case.  All  who  have  paid 
close  attention  to  the  different  ways  in  which  speeches 
are  presented,  have  noticed  that  there  is  a  certain  style  of 
delivery  which  shows  that  the  speaker  using  it  has  made 
definite  preparation  for  his  speech,  that  he  has  conceived 
what  he  is  going  to  talk  about,  that  he  has  thought  and  read 
upon  his  subject,  that  he  has  outlined  his  plan  of  speech, 
that  he  has  even  practiced  his  speech  thoroughly  before 
presenting  it  in  public,  and  yet  has  not  allowed  himself  to 
determine  beforehand  the  actual  language  he  will  use.  Such 
an  effort  is  certainly  very  different  from  impromptu  speak- 
ing. It  is  also  very  different  from  the  speaking  in  which 
definite  language  is  determined  upon  and  either  committed 
to  memory,  or  written  and  read.  Some  name  had  to  be 
given  to  this  middle  style  of  delivery,  lying  between  the 
two  extremes  of  no  preparation  and  absolute  preparation. 
All  authorities  on  speaking  now  agree  in  calling  this  style 
Extempore  Speaking. 


THE  AMOUNT  OF  PRACTICE  REQUIRED 

Let  us  understand,  then,  that  Extempore  Speaking  not 
only  admits  but  requires  some  definite  preparation.  Let  us 
understand,  also,  that  there  is  only  one  arbitrary  limit  to 
the  amount  of  preparation  a  speaker  may  make  for  an 
extempore  speech. 

The  speaker  must  not  determine  beforehand  the 
definite  phraseology  he  will  use  to  express  his  thoughts, 
if  he  is  to  make  an  extempore  speech. 

If  he  observes  this  law  and  keeps  himself  free  to  use 
the  words  which  come  to  him  at  the  moment  of  speaking, 
then  the  more  preparation  he  makes,  of  every  other  kind, 
the  better  extempore  speech  will  he  have. 

The  extempore  style  of  delivery  deserves  our  very  best 
attention.  No  other  style  is  so  much  in  demand  to-day. 
There  are  different  reasons  why  this  is  so.  I.  The  suc- 
cessful speaker  is  the  one  who  gets  into  close  touch  with 
the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  his  audience.  No  other  style 
permits  the  speaker  to  do  this  as  does  the  extempore.  2. 
To  be  most  successful  to-day,  a  speaker  must  ever  be  ready 
to  adapt  his  speech  to  new  conditions  and  circumstances. 
These  often  arise  suddenly  and  unexpectedly,  and  he  must, 
therefore,  be  able  to  "weave  them  in"  at  the  very  moment 
of  speaking.  The  extempore  form  of  delivery  is  the  only 
one  in  which  the  speaker  can  most  successfully  do  this. 
3.  An  audience  is  always  most  keenly  interested  in  those 
things  in  which  the  speaker  exhibits  keen  interest.  It  is 
easy  to  see  that  in  extempore  speaking  the  speaker's  in- 
terest is  kept  at  the  highest  tension,  for  each  thing  he  says 
comes  to  him  as  a  fresh  thought.  For  these  reasons  the 
highest  success  in  original  speaking  can  be  reached  in  the 
extempore  style  of  delivery. 


192      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

To  reach  this  high  success  in  original  speaking,  by  em- 
ploying the  extempore  style,  requires  the  most  thorough 
preparation.  Dr.  Lyman  Abbott  has  well  said  of  this  style 
that  "It  is  like  Longfellow's  little  girl — 'When  it  is  good, 
it  is  very,  very  good ;  and  when  it  is  bad,  it  is  horrid/  " 
What  is  more  displeasing  (if  not,  indeed,  depressing)  to 
an  audience,  than  to  have  to  endure  an  extempore  speech 
so  ill-prepared  that  the  speaker  is  sure  neither  of  his  sub- 
ject nor  of  himself !  Such  a  speaker  grows  panicky  while 
he  tries  to  recall  what  he  meant  to  say  next.  He  hesitates 
and  blindly  gropes  for  words.  He  leaves  out  important 
things  and  says  all  sorts  of  disconnected,  irrelevant,  and 
undesirable  things.  Anyone  who  has  witnessed  and  ex- 
perienced this  sort  of  ordeal  will  agree  that  if  a  speaker  will 
not  make  the  preparation  required  to  give  him  accuracy  and 
freedom  in  extempore  speaking,  he  should  not  attempt  it. 

This  brings  up  the  important  question,  how  much  prepara- 
tion is  required  to  accomplish  this?  It  is  obvious  that  a 
speaker  can  decide  this  question,  concerning  any  speech  he 
expects  to  make,  only  by  testing  his  preparation.  How 
does  the  base-ball  or  basket-ball  player  determine  how  well 
he  is  prepared  to  play  a  game  ?  Everyone  knows  that  there 
is  but  one  effective  way  and  that  is  to  put  himself  through 
the  game  beforehand.  As  with  the  athlete,  so  with  the 
speaker.  Therefore,  as  soon  as  adequate  preliminary 
preparation  for  a  speech  has  been  made,  including  a  careful 
outline,  earnest  thinking,  wide  reading,  with  copious  notes, 
test  your  preparation  by  actually  delivering  the  speech  to 
an  imaginary  audience,  or,  better  still,  to  a  friend.  Before 
beginning  this  practice-speech,  make  from  your  complete 
outline  a  brief  outline,  containing  only  the  Main  Headings, 


THE  AMOUNT  OF  PRACTICE  REQUIRED         193 

or  these  and  the  Sub-headings  of  the  First  Order.  Com- 
mit this  short  outline  to  memory,  that  you  may  "keep  your 
place"  throughout  your  speech  without  having  to  refer  to 
your  notes.  When  this  has  been  done,  fix  a  time  limit 
beyond  which  you  determine  not  to  go.  Make  this  limit 
the  briefest  time  within  which  you  deem  it  possible  to  ac- 
complish your  set  purpose.  Place  your  watch  before  you, 
or  have  the  friend  keep  the  time  for  you.  Consider,  before 
you  begin,  that,  to  get  the  greatest  benefit  from  this  pre- 
liminary practice,  you  must  go  through  the  entire  speech 
without  stopping,  just  as  you  would  have  to  if  you  were 
before  the  audience.  Now  for  the  speech!  When  the 
time-limit  is  reached,  stop! 

Probably  you  will  not  have  finished  your  speech.  Doubt- 
less you  will  have  omitted  some  of  the  important  things 
you  intended  to  say.  Now  is  your  opportunity  to  make  your 
practice  telling.  Immediately  think  over  what  you  have 
said.  Recall  the  points  upon  which  you  have  put  the  most 
time.  Examine  those  points  to  see  how  much  of  what 
you  said  on  them  is  of  less  importance  than  some  of  the 
things  you  meant  to  say  but  did  not.  Conceive  how  you 
can  abbreviate  or  omit  those  less  important  things  so  as  to 
gain  time  for  the  things  you  omitted,  and  yet  have  the  time 
to  finish  the  speech  within  the  limit.  When  these  concep- 
tions have  been  clearly  formed,  again  speak  your  speech — 
and  stop  at  the  time-limit.  Repeat  this  process  until  you 
can  finish  well  within  the  limit,  and  yet  give  the  right 
proportion  of  time  to  each  division  of  the  speech. 

The  objection  may  be  raised  that  this  process  will 
diminish,  if  not  destroy,  the  extempore  effect.  It  is  true  that 
each  time  a  speaker  repeats  a  speech,  he  has  a  growing  tend- 


194      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

ency  to  use  the  same  words  previously  used.  To  overcome 
this  tendency  and  make  sure  that  he  remain  "word-free," 
the  average  speaker  should  observe  three  precautions:  I. 
He  should  not  write  a  speech  which  he  is  to  present  in  the 
extempore  style  The  reason  for  this  is  clear.  A  law  which 
we  quoted  above,  declares  that  "writing  maketh  the  exact 
mind."  Writing  a  speech  not  only  tends  to  bring  to  mind 
words  with  exact  meanings ;  it  also  tends,  as  we  have  said, 
to  cause  the  speaker  to  use  exactly  the  same  words  which 
he  used  when  he  wrote  the  speech.  2.  The  extempore 
speaker  should  keep  his  mind  on  the  things  about  which 
he  is  talking,  in  close  imaginative  touch  with  those  things, 
rather  than  on  the  words  he  is  speaking.  3.  The  extempore 
speaker  should  change  his  speech  in  certain  respects  every 
time  he  practices  it.  This  he  can  do  by  imagining  a  different 
audience,  by  taking  different  attitudes  toward  the  imaginary 
audience  and  toward  the  things  discussed,  and  by  changing 
the  concrete  illustrations.  The  speaker  who  observes  these 
precautions  will  avoid  falling  into  fixed  phraseology;  and, 
if  he  does  happen  to  repeat  some  of  the  sentences  used  be- 
fore in  the  same  speech,  he  does  it  unconsciously,  and  not 
because  he  had  memorized  the  words.  He  remains  an  un- 
fettered thinker,  ready  to  adapt  himself  to  momentary  de- 
mands, which  is  the  chief  essential  cf  extempore  speaking. 
3.  The  Partially  Extempore  and  Partially  Reading 
Style  of  Delivery. — This  is  the  style  which  speakers  adopt 
when  they  desire  to  be  "word-free"  throughout  most  of  the 
speech,  and  yet  wish  to  have  certain  parts  of  the  speech 
very  accurate.  An  example  of  this  style  is  heard  when  a 
lawyer  begins  by  reading  a  carefully  written  statement  of 
his  case,  then  lays  down  his  manuscript  and  speaks  ex- 


THE  AMOUNT  OF  PRACTICE  REQUIRED 

tempore  until  he  comes  to  a  place  in  the  speech  where  he 
wishes  to  read  some  written  testimony  or  authority,  reads 
this,  then  speaks  extempore  again,  and  so  on.  Other  ex- 
amples are  seen  when  debaters  stop  in  the  midst  of  an 
extempore  speech  to  read,  from  a  manuscript  or  a  book, 
some  definition  or  some  statement  of  statistics  or  some 
testimony,  which  the  debaters ,  feel  must  be  given  verbatim. 

At  best,  this  is  a  diluted  or  weakened  form  of  extempore 
speaking.  Observe  closely  the  effect  on  the  audience  when 
a  speaker  turns  aside  from  the  freedom  and '  spontaneity 
of  his  extempore  speech,  to  read  something.  The  author  of 
this  book  has  made  this  observation  scores  of  times.  The 
effect  is  always  the  same.  The  attention  of  the  audience 
is  instantly  lessened.  So  damaging  is  this  to  the  general 
effectiveness  of  the  speech,  that  it  far  more  than  outweighs 
the  advantage  which  the  speaker  supposes  he  gains  by  ap- 
pearing to  be  accurate. 

For  these  reasons,  we  cannot  recommend  this  style  of 
delivery.  Instead  we  recommend,  to  the  speaker  who  feels 
that  his  speech  requires  that  he  read  certain  parts  of  it, 
the  following  preparation.  First  fix  in  mind  the  exact 
source  (volume  and  page)  of  the  article  you  had  thought 
of  reading,  that  you  may  be  able  to  state  the  source  instantly 
and  accurately.  When  this  is  done,  conceive  the  exact  gist 
of  the  article  you  contemplated  reading.  Conceive  it  so 
clearly  that  you  can  state  the  meaning  of  the  article  in  a 
very  few  words  of  your  own.  With  this  -condensed  mean- 
ing at  your  tongue's  end,  you  can  weave  it  into  your  ex- 
tempore speech  as  readily  as  you  do  any  other  thought. 
By  doing  so,  you  preserve  t*he  extempore  style,  retain  your 


196      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

hold  on  the  mind  of  the  audience,  and  greatly  increase  the 
effectiveness  of  the  speech. 

However,  since  there  are  times  when  the  speaker  deems 
it  practically  necessary  to  read,  from  a  book  or  a  manu- 
script, a  part  of  what  he  intends  to  say,  he  must  know  what 
preparation  is  necessary,  to  make  such  reading  most  ef- 
fective. The  thing  that  makes  such  reading  ineffective  is 
that  it  takes  both  the  mind  and  the  eye  of  the  speaker  away 
from  the  mind  and  the  eye  of  the  listener.  The  question, 
then,  is,  how  shall  the  speaker  prepare  to  read  so  as  to  keep 
both  his  mind  and  his  eye  on  the  mind  and  eye  of  the 
listener?  Three  things  are  necessary.  I.  The  speaker 
should  read  as  few  moments  as  possible  at  any  one  time. 
2.  The  speaker's  turning  from  speaking  to  reading  and  back 
again  should  be  as  little  apparent  as  possible.  3.  During 
the  reading,  the  mind  of  the  speaker  should  act  as  nearly 
as  possible  as  it  does  when  he  is  speaking. 

To  realize  these  three  things  requires  earnest,  accurate, 
vigorous,  and  persistent  practice.  I.  To  make  sure  that 
you  are  ready  to  read  the  fewest  moments  possible,  seek 
out  the  fewest  sentences  in  the  article  to  be  read,  that  will 
convey  the  meaning  intended.  Mark  these  sentences  so 
prominently  on  the  page,  that  not  one  moment  will  be  lost 
in  searching  for  them.  2.  To  make  sure  that  your  mind 
shall  not  turn  away  from  the  mind  of  the  listener  when 
you  begin  to  read,  practice  your  extempore  speech  with 
the  articles  to  be  read  so  clearly  marked  and  so  near  at 
hand  that  each  one  can  be  picked  up  without  a  moment's 
hesitation  or  search.  3.  To  make  sure  that  during  your 
reading  your  mind  will  continue  to  act  toward  and  upon  the 
mind  of  the  audience  as  it  does  when  you  are  speaking 


THE  AMOUNT  OF  PRACTICE  REQUIRED         1 97 

directly  to  the  audience,  practice  reading  the  articles  you 
expect  to  read,  as  often  as  possible,  with  an  imaginary 
audience  before  you.  As  you  read  each  phrase,  keep  say- 
ing to  yourself:  "Is  that  clear  to  the  audience?  I  must 
watch  them  to  see  if  they  are  getting  that."  You  will  soon 
realize  that,  to  accomplish  this,  you  must  keep  your  eyes 
looking  into  the  eyes  of  the  audience.  This  means  that 
you  must  practice  your  reading  until  you  become  so  familiar 
with  the  thought  in  each  sentence  to  be  read,  that  a  mere 
glance  at  the  sentence  on  the  page  will  instantly  recall  the 
whole  thought,  and  permit  you  to  look  away  from  the  page 
before  you  have  lost  the  eye  of  the  listener. 

4.  The  Partially  Extempore  and  Partially  Memoriter 
Style  of  Delivery  .—This  is  the  style  that  speakers  employ 
when  they  wish  to  preserve  the  extempore  style,  to  be  free 
throughout  most  of  the  speech,  and  yet  make  certain  parts 
of  the  speech  exceptionally  impressive.  For  example,  that 
type  of  speaker  known  as  the  "spell-binder"  often  uses 
this  style  of  delivery.  Such  a  speaker  feels  that  he  must 
be  ready  to  adapt  himself  to  all  new  conditions  and  circum- 
stances which  may  arise;  and,  for  this  reason,  he  must 
not  have  a  "set"  speech  but  must  keep  it  almost  wholly 
extempore.  But  he  also  feels  that  he  has  a  "gem  of  a 
thought"  with  which  he  wishes  to  conclude  his  speech, 
others  with  which  he  wishes  to  end  certain  paragraphs,  and 
another,  perhaps,  with  which  he  desires  to  introduce  his 
speech.  He  feels  that  with  each  of  these  thoughts  he  must 
make  the  greatest  possible  impression  on  the  audience.  He, 
therefore,  states  these  favorite  ideas  in  the  best  sentences 
he  can  formulate  and  then  commits  to  memory  these 
sentences.  He  does  this,  confident  that  he  will  then  be  free 


198      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

to  soar  the  heights  of  eloquence  when  he  comes  to  these 
passages  in  his  speech. 

There  are  advantages  and  disadvantages  in  this  style.  It 
causes  the  speaker  to  conceive  certain  important  ideas  more 
clearly  and  to  state  them  more  accurately  than  he  might 
do  in  a  purely  extempore  speech.  When  employed  at  the 
end  of  paragraphs  and  at  the  end  of  the  whole  speech,  it 
also  enables  the  speaker  to  conclude  his  thoughts  in  a 
surer,  firmer,  and  more  convincing  manner  than  he  might 
do  in  a  purely  extempore  effort.  The  disadvantages  arise 
from  the  fact  that  it  is  difficult  to  make  the  two  styles  of 
delivery  work  well  together.  The  change  in  the  speaker's 
manner  as  he  passes  from  the  one  style  to  the  other,  is 
likely  to  be  so  apparent  to  the  audience  that  it  will  divert 
the  attention  from  the  thing  said  to  the  way  in  which  it 
is  said.  This,  of  course,  materially  lessens  the  effectiveness 
of  the  whole  speech  instead  of  increasing  it. 

To  overcome  the  disadvantages  of  this  style  of  delivery 
requires  thorough  final  preparation.  The  speaker  who  in- 
tends to  use  this  style  should  first  conceive  intensively  the 
exact  thought  in  the  extempore  speech  itself,  which  each 
of  these  memorized  passages  is  to  follow.  When  he  has 
these,  and  their  sequence  in  the  speech,  well  fixed  in  mind, 
he  should  then  practice  the  entire  speech  before  an  imaginary 
audience  (or,  better  still,  before  a  friend)  in  the  manner 
outlined  under  the  Extempore  Style  above.  Whenever  he 
approaches  one  of  the  memorized  passages,  he  should  make 
that  approach  natural  by  conceiving,  while  speaking  ex- 
tempore, how  his  subject  is  rapidly  accumulating  size  and 
force,  so  that  when  he  reaches  the  memorized  part,  he  has 
already  gained  the  height  on  which  he  wishes  to  place  the 


THE  AMOUNT  OF  PRACTICE  REQUIRED         199 

memorized  part.  When  he  presents  the  memorized  passage, 
he  should  keep  repeatedly  saying  to  himself  (as  we  advised 
for  reading  the  passage),  "Is  that  clear  to  the  audience? 
I  must  watch  my  audience  to  see  if  it  is  getting  that 
thought."  The  speaker  who  does  this  in  his  practice  will 
avoid  the  lofty  and  unnatural  manner  that  would  inevitably 
mar  the  effectiveness  of  this  style. 

5.  The  Reading  Style  of  Delivery.— This  style,  as  the 
name  suggests,  is  the  one  employed  by  those  speakers  who 
prefer  to  determine  beforehand  the  exact  language  in  which 
they  will  express  their  thoughts,  and  yet  do  not  memorize 
the  words  to  be  used.  It  is  the  style  adopted  by  speakers 
whose  chief  aim  is  to  instruct  the  audience — speakers  who 
consider  it  more  important  to  state  their  ideas  in  exact 
form  than  to  be  free  to  carry  the  audience  to  new  heights 
of  thought  and  feeling.  For  example,  many  instructors 
always  employ  this  style  in  their  lectures  before  their 
classes.  They  carefully  write  out  what  they  mean  to  say 
to  the  class,  take  the  manuscript  with  them,  and  read  the 
lecture  from  the  manuscript.  Ministers  who  fear  to  trust 
themselves  in  extempore  speech  or  who  prefer  rather  to 
give  an  exact  exposition  of  some  idea  than  to  make  a 
speech  of  up-lift,  write  their  sermons  and  read  them  to  the 
congregation.  Presidents  in  their  inaugural  addresses,  wish- 
ing to  state  their  policies  clearly  and  exactly,  also  read 
written  speeches  to  the  audience. 

The  one  thing  that  can  be  said  in  favor  of  this  style,  has 
already  been  said.  It  does  enable  the  speaker  (or  rather 
the  reader)  to  know  beforehand  exactly  what  he  is  going 
to  say  and  the  exact  order  in  which  he  will  say  it.  Over 
against  this  one  advantage  there  are  very  serious  disad- 


2OO      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

vantages.  Everyone  is  familiar  with  them.  How  often 
have  we  all  sat  in  an  audience  when  the  speaker  drew  forth 
his  manuscript,  and  heard  someone  sigh  pathetically  and 
exclaim:  "Dear  me!  He's  going  to  read  it."  Why  this 
general  antipathy  to  the  reading  style  of  delivery?  Be- 
cause people  have  learned  that  it  is  generally  a  bore,  and 
that  the  speaker  who  uses  it  is  likely  to  be  dull  and  un- 
interesting. This  is  not  always  the  case,  to  be  sure,  but 
the  attitude  of  the  people  toward  this  style  shows  that  the 
chances  are  strongly  against  it.  There  is  a  psychological 
reason  for  this.  During  the  entire  preparation  of  such  a 
speech,  the  speaker  is  apt  to  withdraw  himself  entirely 
from  any  imaginative  contact  with  his  audience,  and  to 
think  only  of  his  own  ideas  and  of  the  mere  sequence  of 
them.  What  is  the  result?  By  the  time  the  speech  is 
written,  the  speaker  has  so  perfectly  formed  the  habit  of 
thinking  those  thoughts  without  any  vital  connection  be- 
tween his  mind  and  the  mind  of  the  listeners,  that  when 
he  comes  before  the  audience,  he  naturally  follows  that 
habit,  and  reads  his  thoughts  with  almost  as  little  contact 
between  himself  and  the  audience  as  if  the  audience  were 
not  present.  He  has  so  little  use  for  the  audience  that  it 
is  no  wonder  the  audience  has  little  use  for  him  or  his 
speech. 

Yet  it  is  possible  to  make  the  Reading  Style  of  Delivery 
effective.  Now  and  then  we  hear  a  speaker  who  reads  his 
speech  so  well  that  we  almost  forget  that  he  is  reading. 
To  make  the  reading  of  a  speech  as  effective  as  an  ex- 
tempore speech,  requires  extremely  thorough  and  vigorous 
preparation. 

This  preparation  must  begin  during  the  writing  of  the 


THE  AMOUNT  OF  PRACTICE  REQUIRED        2OI 

speech.  If  the  speaker  hopes  to  have  his  mind  and  his 
eye  engage,  without  break,  the  mind  and  eye  of  the  actual 
audience,  when  he  comes  before  it,  he  must  keep  himself  in 
close  contact  with  an  imaginary  audience  all  the  while  he  is 
writing.  An  excellent  way  to  accomplish  this  is  to  speak 
each  part  of  the  speech  to  an  imaginary  audience  or  to 
a  friend,  just  before  writing  it.  Before  beginning  each 
paragraph,  fix  in  mind  the  outline  for  that  paragraph ;  then, 
imagining  as  nearly  as  possible  how  you  would  feel  if  you 
were  before  the  audience,  present  that  paragraph  orally. 
If  you  do  not  succeed  well  the  first  time,  repeat  the  effort 
until  you  do;  then,  while  your  mind  is  still  in  the  "heat" 
of  this  encounter  with  the  imaginary  audience,  sit  down 
and  dash  your  words  on  the  paper.  If  this  method  is  pur- 
sued throughout  the  writing,  a  large  measure  of  success 
will  already  be  won. 

The  next  stage  of  the  final  preparation  will  be  the  fre- 
quent reading  of  the  manuscript.  For  the  average  speaker 
the  best  preparation  requires  that  he  read  his  speech  many 
times  before  venturing  it  in  public.  But  more  important 
even  than  this  persistent  practice,  is  the  manner  in  which 
it  is  read.  Train  the  eye  to  run  swiftly  down  the  page,  so 
as  to  catch  as  much  as  possible  in  the  fraction  of  a  second. 
Immediately  look  away  from  the  page  and,  engaging  the 
eyes  of  the  imaginary  audience,  deliver  what  you  gathered 
from  the  page.  Again  gather  an  "eye-full"  in  the  briefest 
possible  time,  and  look  again  into  the  eyes  of  the  audience 
which  you  imagine  before  you  while  you  speak  what  you 
saw  on  the  page.  Never  allow  yourself  to  look  at  the  paper 
while  actually  speaking.  If  this  method  is  persisted  in 
faithfully  until  you  are  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  manu- 


202      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

script,  you  will  transform  a  lifeless,  ineffective  reading  into 
a  live,  effective  speech. 

6.  The  Memoriter  Style  of  Delivery. — The  difference 
between  the  Reading  Style  and  the  Memoriter  Style  of 
Delivery,  is  that  in  the  former  the  speaker  writes  his  speech 
and  then  reads  it ;  while  in  the  latter  he  writes  his  speech, 
commits  it  to  memory,  and  then  delivers  it  entirely  from 
memory. 

The  Memoriter  Style  was  formerly  quite  extensively 
used,  but  now  has  fallen  into  disfavor  and  is  seldom  used. 
Formerly  the  "oratorical  contest/'  in  which  the  student 
wrote  and  committed  to  memory  a  formal  oration,  was  one 
of  the  chief  means  for  training  students  to  speak;  to-day, 
in  many  of  our  representative  colleges  and  universities, 
the  debate  has  almost  wholly  supplanted  the  oration.  In 
educating  the  speaker  to-day,  all  our  more  progressive 
institutions  of  learning  have  regular  courses  in  Extempore 
Speaking  and  in  Argumentation  and  Debate,  in  which  the 
training  is  wholly  in  extempore  speaking.  The  reasons  for 
this  change  have  been  pointed  out  in  the  discussion  of  the 
Extempore  Style.  The  speaker  of  to-day,  to  be  most  ef- 
fective, must  be  ever  ready  to  adapt  his  speech  to  the 
momentary  demands  of  the  occasion.  When  a  speech  has 
been  absolutely  committed  to  memory,  such  adaptation  is 
difficult,  and,  with  many  speakers,  impossible.  For  these 
reasons,  the  Memoriter  Style  of  delivery  is  no  longer  in 
high  favor. 

There  are  still  some  persons,  however,  who  prefer  to 
speak  in  the  Memoriter  Style.  These  persons  are  of  three 
classes:  i.  Those  who  fear  to  trust  themselves  to  have  the 
right  words  at  the  right  time ;  2.  Those  who  prefer  to  make 


THE  AMOUNT  OF  PRACTICE  REQUIRED        2O3 

an  oratorical  display  rather  than  to  grapple  with  and  lead 
the  minds  of  the  audience;  3.  Those  who  prefer  the 
Memoriter  Style  for  both  these  reasons. 

How  shall  the  speaker  who  intends  to  speak  in  the 
Memoriter  Style  conceive  the  amount  of  the  final  prepara- 
tion he  should  make  before  presenting  his  speech  in  public  ? 
It  is  obvious,  in  the  first  place,  that  he  should  write  his 
entire  speech,  since  he  so  earnestly  desires  accuracy  of 
language,  and  knows  that  "writing  maketh  the  exact  mind." 
Not  only  should  he  write  but  he  should  repeatedly  re- 
write his  speech  until  he  is  convinced  that  his  expressions 
are  the  most  effective  ones  he  can  devise. 

Next  comes  the  task  of  memorizing.  Nothing  else  that 
a  memoriter  speaker  is  ever  called  upon  to  do,  can  make1 
a  greater  difference  in  the  degree  of  his  success,  than  is 
made  by  a  good  or  a  bad  method  of  committing  his  speech 
to  memory.  (We  shall  consider  this  point  more  fully  in 
the  chapter  on  Memory.)  The  fundamental  task  is  the 
same  as  in  the  final  preparation  for  the  Reading  Style. 
The  speaker  must  find  how  to  avoid  becoming  so  conscious 
of  his  words  that  he  loses  the  vital  connection  with  the 
things  about  which  he  speaks  and  with  the  minds  of  his 
audience.  To  avoid  this  fatal  result,  memorize  ideas  in- 
stead of  words.  Make  no  direct  attempt  to  memorize  the 
words.  As  soon  as  the  final  draft  of  the  speech  is  written, 
concentrate  the  mind  on  the  first  paragraph  of  the  speech. 
As  you  read  each  sentence  in  that  paragraph,  try  to  imagine 
before  you,  not  the  words,  but  the  very  things  about  which 
you  are  to  speak.  Imagine  also  that  you  are  facing  the 
audience,  showing  the  listeners  those  things.  When  you 
have  read  the  entire  paragraph  through  in  this  manner,  and 


204      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

have  fixed  in  mind  the  order  in  which  you  have  placed 
the  things  about  which  you  speak,  step  away  from  the 
manuscript  and  speak  that  paragraph,  imagining  that  the 
audience  is  before  you.  When  you  have  finished  speaking 
it,  look  through  the  paragraph  on  the  paper,  to  see  if  you 
have  made  any  mistakes.  If  so,  correct  your  conceptions 
in  those  places,  then  speak  the  paragraph  again.  Continue 
this  process  until  you  can  speak  the  entire  paragraph,  with- 
out any  hesitation  and  without  any  errors  in  the  wording, 
with  your  mind  fixed  constantly  on  the  audience  and  the 
things  about  which  you  speak.  Then  treat  the  next  para- 
graph in  the  same  manner,  and,  when  it  is  memorized,  speak 
the  first  and  second  paragraphs  in  immediate  succession. 
Then  treat  the  third  paragraph  likewise  and  then  join  the 
first  three,  and  so  on  throughout  the  speech. 

When  a  speaker  commits  his  speech  to  memory  in  this 
psychological  manner,  he  retains  almost  all  the  spontaneous 
action  of  mind  that  he  would  have  in  an  extempore  speech. 
He  transforms  the  uninteresting,  "cut-and-dried"  speech 
(which  results  from  memorizing  mere  words)  into  a  live, 
interesting  and  effective  message. 


Experiments  in  Making  the  Final  Preparation  for  an 
Original  Speech 

Before  beginning  any  one  of  these  experiments,  a  definite 
time-limit  should  be  set,  beyond  which  the  student  must  not 
go  in  making  a  speech  in  his  experiments.  His  final  effort 
before  the  class  should  conform  to  this  same  limit. 

I.  Perform  the  experiment  of  making  the  fial  prepara- 


EXPERIMENTS  2O5 

tion  for  a  Narrative  Speech  to  be  delivered  in  the  Ex- 
tempore Style,  i.  Use  the  Subject  which  you  have  already 
conceived  to  be  appropriate  and  adapted  to  Narration.  2. 
Use  the  Plan  for  a  Narrative  Speech,  which  you  conceived 
and  formed  while  studying  Chapter  VII.  3.  Conceive  what 
articles  you  should  read  on  this  subject,  as  indicated  in 
this  chapter  (pp.  182-184).  4.  Read  these  articles  and  take 
careful  notes  on  them,  in  the  manner  suggested  in  this 
chapter  (pp.  185-187).  5.  Conceive  the  amount  of  addi- 
tional writing  you  need  to  do,  as  indicated  on  pages  187 
and  1 88,  and  do  the  writing  needed.  6.  Conceive  (as  out- 
lined on  pp.  189-194)  the  amount  of  practice  that  thorough 
preparation  for  your  speech  requires,  and  practice  the 
speech  accordingly.  Make  the  practice  accurate  and  careful. 
Present  this  speech  before  the  class. 

II.  Perform  the  experiment  of  making  thorough  final 
preparation  for  a  Descriptive  Speech  to  be  delivered  in  the 
Extempore  Style,     i.  Use  the  Subject  you  have  already 
conceived  as  appropriate  and  adapted  to  Description.     2. 
Use  the  Plan  for  a  Descriptive  Speech,  which  you  conceived 
and  formed  in  your  study  of  Chapter  VII.     3.  Conceive 
what  articles  to  read  (see  pp.  182-184).    4.  Conceive  how 
to  read  the  articles  selected,  and  take  notes  on  them  (see 
pp.   185-187)  ;  read  them  and  take  the  notes  needed.     5. 
Conceive  the  amount  of  additional  writing  you  should  do 
(see  pp.  187-188)  and  write  as  much  as  you  find  helpful. 
6.  Conceive  the  amount  of  practice  which  an  effective  ex- 
tempore presentation  demands  (see  pp.  189-194)  and  prac- 
tice the  speech  accordingly.    Present  this  speech  before  the 
class. 

III.  Perform  the  experiment  of  making  thorough  final 


206      CONCEPTION-FORMING  IN  ORIGINAL  SPEECH 

preparation  for  an  Expository  Speech  to  be  delivered  in  the 
Extempore  Style.  In  performing  this  experiment,  follow 
the  plan  outlined  in  experiments  I  and  II  above.  When 
the  speech  has  been  thoroughly  prepared  and  yet  kept  en- 
tirely extempore  in  the  wording  of  it,  speak  it  before  the 
class  for  criticism. 

IV.  Perform  the  experiment  of  completing  the  final 
preparation  required  for  an  Argumentative  Speech  to  be 
delivered  in  the  Extempore  Style.  Follow  the  plan  out- 
lined in  experiments  I  and  II  above.  When  the  prepara- 
tion is  complete,  present  the  speech  before  the  class  for 
criticism. 


Additional  Experiments  in  the  Final  Preparation 
Required 

If  it  be  possible  to  devote  to  this  particular  phase  of 
the  work,  more  than  the  four  class-sessions  required  for 
these  four  experiments,  it  will  be  found  highly  profitable 
to  review  the  entire  general  subject  of  Conception-Forming 
in  Original  Speech  (Chapters  VI,  VII,  VIII,  and  IX)  and 
to  pursue  other  subjects  for  speeches,  throughout  all  the 
steps  of  preparation,  from  choosing  the  subject  to  present- 
ing the  speeches  in  class. 

If  time  will  permit  and  the  intending  speaker  desires  a 
working  knowledge  of  the  other  four  styles  of  delivery,  then 
continue  the  experiments  in  making  the  Final  Preparation 
for  a  speech,  through  these  other  styles  of  delivery.  For 
example,  take  the  Argumentative  Speech  prepared  above. 
Prepare  to  present  that  speech  in  the  Partially  Extempore 


ADDITIONAL  EXPERIMENTS  2O7 

and  Partially  Reading  Style,  and  also  in  the  Partially  Ex- 
tempore and  Partially  Memoriter  Style.  For  the  session 
following  the  one  in  which  this  effort  is  made,  prepare  to 
present  the  same  speech  in  the  Written  and  also  in  the 
Memoriter  Style.  Observe  the  laws  of  effectiveness  out- 
lined in  the  discussion  of  these  styles  in  this  chapter. 


CHAPTER  X 
CONCEPTIONS  IN  LITERATURE 

The  Value  of  Literary  Conceptions 

So  far,  as  outlined  in  this  book,  all  our  conceptions  have 
been  built  from  the  miscellaneous  things  which  we  meet 
in  life,  and  from  the  particular  things  which  we  are  pre- 
paring to  use  in  some  original  speech.  There  are  several 
reasons  why  the  speaker  should  train  himself  carefully  to 
rebuild  the  conceptions  which  are  found  in  literature.  In 
the  first  place,  many  of  these  conceptions  were  built  by 
master  minds  and  are  capable  of  "setting  the  pace"  to  our 
own  minds  better  than  almost  anything  else  can  do.  In 
the  second  place,  the  student  of  speech  may  desire  to  read 
selections  from  literature,  in  public.  He  never  can  do  so 
with  the  greatest  success  unless  he  has  first  trained  him- 
self to  form  every  conception  entering  into  a  piece  of 
literature,  which  he  may  desire  to  read,  as  carefully  as  if 
he  were  forming  that  conception  for  his  own,  original 
speech.  In  the  third  place,  though  the  student  of  speech 
may  never  expect  to  read  in  public,  much  of  the  knowledge 
to  be  acquired  by  the  speaker  must  be  gleaned  from  litera- 
ture. This  knowledge  will  be  inaccurate,  oftentimes  ab- 
solutely untrue  and  lifeless,  unless  the  student  has  been 
trained  to  rebuild  all  conceptions,  in  the  literature  from 
which  he  gains  his  knowledge,  with  as  much  diligence  as 

208 


ANALYSIS  OF  LITERARY  CONCEPTIONS         2O9 

if  he  were  getting  his  information  direct  from  nature.  This 
hardly  needs  proof;  it  is  self-evident.  When  one  builds  a 
conception  of  a  thing,  he  comes  into  the  very  inner  life  of 
that  thing.  He  takes  its  life  into  his  life.  How,  then,  can 
literature  that  has  not  been  fully  conceived  by  the  one  who 
reads  it,  be  made  to  appear  other  than  lifeless?  And  if 
the  reader  has  not  come  to  know  the  inner  life  of  the  thing 
read  about  in  literature,  how  can  his  knowledge  concerning 
that  thing  be  accurate  ?  How  can  he  be  sure  that  his  knowl- 
edge is  true? 

For  the  above  reasons,  some  of  our  best  results,  in  pre- 
paring for  Public  Speaking,  will  come  through  building 
conceptions  from  literature. 


Analysis  of  Literary  Conceptions 

Before  proceeding  with  the  work  of  forming  conceptions 
from  literature,  let  us  observe  one  or  two  important  prin- 
ciples concerning  the  kind  of  conceptions  we  should  build 
from  literature.  In  order  to  be  ready  to  follow  the  author's 
mind,  ready  to  build  the  exact  conceptions  he  built,  and  to 
build  them  in  exactly  the  same  order  in  which  he  built 
them,  the  first  thing  necessary  is,  that  we  get  a  clear  con- 
ception of  the  theme  which  the  author  is  presenting.  By 
"theme"  (as  we  found  on  p.  136)  we  mean  the  particular 
phase  of  life  which  the  author  is  setting  forth.  No  matter 
what  kind  of  literature  we  may  read,  if  it  is  real  literature, 
worth  reading,  there  is  always  to  be  found  one  central  life 
out  of  which  all  smaller  parts  of  the  writing  grow  as  the 
branches  grow  out  of  a  tree.  Naturally,  we  are  not  ready 


2IO  CONCEPTIONS  IN  LITERATURE 

to  interpret  the  life  found  in  any  of  the  single  lines  of  a 
writing  until  we  have  conceived  exactly  the  kind  of  life 
from  which  all  the  lines  spring. 

As  soon  as  we  have  come  to  recognize  and  to  feel  the  kind 
of  life  the  author  is  presenting,  the  second  necessary  step  is 
to  conceive  the  author's  purpose  in  presenting  this  theme. 
Why  does  he  do  it  ?  What  does  he  wish  to  do  with  us,  his 
audience,  as  he  sets  forth  this  particular  phase  of  life? 
Until  we  have  answered  these  questions,  we  are  not  pre- 
pared fully  to  conceive  single  sentences  in  the  selection  we 
are  trying  to  read.  We  shall  answer  these  questions,  and, 
thereby,  come  to  conceive  the  author's  purpose,  largely  by 
turning  again  to  the  theme  itself.  The  writer  has  certainly 
emphasized  those  particular  features  of  the  life  he  is  pre- 
senting, which  he  wishes  us  to  conceive.  Then,  when  we 
have  found  the  features  most  often  emphasized,  have  we 
not  found  the  author's  purpose?  His  purpose  is,  evidently, 
to  get  us  to  act  in  full  sympathy  with  those  very  phases 
of  life. 

The  third  essential  step  in  forming  conceptions  of  any 
piece  of  literature,  is  to  form  a  clear  conception  of  each 
and  every  phrase  as  we  come  to  it.  The  process  is  simple. 
By  the  time  the  mind  of  the  reader  is  filled  with  the  con- 
ception of  the  main  theme  presented,  and  with  the  pur- 
pose for  which  that  theme  is  presented,  to  form  a  con- 
ception of  any  one  phrase  requires  only  that  the  reader  find 
the  likeness  between  the  life  in  the  main  theme  and  the  life 
in  the  things  talked  about  in  that  phrase.  In  other  words, 
the  reader  must  discover  what  there  is  in  the  conception 
which  already  fills  his  mind,  that  causes  him  to  think  about 
the  things  mentioned  in  the  phrase  now  before  him.  (This 


ANALYSIS  OF  LITERARY  CONCEPTIONS         211 

point  will  be  made  more  concrete  by  the  conceptions  which 
we  insert  below.) 

The  fourth  step  which  the  student  must  take  in  order  to 
know  any  piece  which  he  may  read  from  literature,  is  to 
conceive  what  there  is  in  the  last  phrase  which  he  con- 
ceived, that  is  so  like  something  in  the  next  phrase,  that  it 
naturally  calls  the  next  phrase  to  mind.  As  soon  as  the 
reader  has  conceived  the  inner  nature,  the  inner  life,  of 
the  thing  discussed  in  the  last  phrase  he  conceived,  he  will 
easily  note  some  striking  likeness  between  that  life  and  the 
life  of  the  things  introduced  in  the  next  phrase.  If  the 
phrases  are  written  as  they  should  be,  that  is,  if  both 
phrases  are  the  true  outgrowth  of  the  central  conception 
of  the  whole  production,  the  reader  will  find  himself  saying : 
"Why,  it  is  so  natural  to  think  of  this  thing  next,  that  I 
couldn't  help  it."  Not  until  he  has  come  to  feel  this  way 
about  it,  does  the  reader  have  adequate  conceptions  of  any- 
thing he  is  attempting  to  read. 

When  the  reader  has  reached  this  state  where  every 
succeeding  phrase  seems  to  be  the  logical,  the  necessary, 
outgrowth  of  the  phrase  before  it,  and  all  phrases  seem  to 
be  the  necessary  outgrowth  of  the  central  spirit  and  life 
of  the  whole  production,  he  has  accomplished  a  number 
of  things  most  valuable  to  good  reading.  First,  the  reader 
has  made  a  living  reality  of  what  he  has  to  read,  and  has 
already  filled  his  own  life  with  the  life  of  his  theme. 
Secondly,  he  has  so  conceived  the  spirit  of  growth  in  that 
life,  that  he  is  much  more  capable  of  causing  an  audience 
to  see  and  to  feel  his  theme  grow  into  a  living  force,  when- 
ever he  presents  that  theme  in  public.  This  means  that 
he  is  much  more  capable  of  "carrying  his  audience  with 


212  CONCEPTIONS  IN  LITERATURE 

him."  Thirdly,  he  has  so  conceived  the  real  life  from 
which  the  words  of  the  production  sprang,  while  using  those 
words,  that  he  has,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  become  word- 
perfect  and  word-free.  What  do  we  mean  by  this?  We 
mean  that  the  reader  will  now  be  able  to  use  the  words 
of  the  author  and  to  use  them  in  the  order  in  which  the 
author  used  them,  remembering  the  order  with  little  diffi- 
culty, because  he  has  "welded"  those  words  firmly  together 
by  this  process  of  conception-forming. 

To  make  more  clear  and  simple  the  four  essential  steps 
in  forming  conceptions  from  literature  (which  steps  we 
have  outlined  above)  let  us  observe  the  conception  which  a 
student  built  of  the  following  lines  from  the  prelude  to 
part  first  of  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal,  by  Lowell.  The 
lines  used  for  this  experiment  were: 

And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June?  Then,  if  ever,  come 
perfect  days;  then  Heaven  tries  earth  if  it  be  in  tune,  and 
over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays.  Whether  we  look  or  whether 
we  listen,  we  hear  life  murmur  or  see  it  glisten;  every  clod 
feels  a  stir  of  might,  an  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and 
towers,  and,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light,  climbs  to  a  soul 
in  grass  and  flowers. 

The  beginning  class  in  Public  Speaking  had  been  asked 
to  form  conceptions  of  these  few  lines,  observing  the  laws 
for  such  conception- forming,  stated  above.  These  concep- 
tions were  to  be  written  and  submitted  in  class.  The  paper 
from  which  we  quote  begins  in  this  manner: 

The  central  theme  of  these  lines  is  the  intense,  living  beauty 
of  Nature  on  a  June  day. 

The  author's  purpose  is  to  make  us  feel  this  life  and  get 
into  close  sympathy  with  it.  He  wants  us  to  feel  how  much 


ANALYSIS  OF  LITERARY  CONCEPTIONS        213 

it  is  like  our  own  lives  at  their  best.  He  wants  us  to  let  our 
lives  be  lifted  and  expanded  and  filled  as  the  life  of  this  June 
day  is  filled  to  overflowing. 

I  realize  that,  if  I  am  to  read  these  lines  well,  I  must  be 
moved  by  this  same  purpose.  I  must  also  conceive  myself 
surrounded  by  all  the  things  which  surrounded  the  author  when 
he  spoke  these  words,  and  from  these  things  must  receive  such 
vivid  imaginative  sensations,  that  I  become  filled  with  the  life 
which  I  am  trying  to  show  to  the  listener.  I,  therefore,  imagine 
myself  in  the  country  on  a  bright  day  in  June. 

As  I  see  the  perfectly  clear  light  reflected  from  everything, 
and  as  I  feel  the  delightful  warmth  that  is  permeating  and 
filling  everything,  it  fills  me  with  a  feeling  of  complete  satis- 
faction till  I  cannot  help  exclaiming  "What  is  so  rare  as  a 
day  in  June!"  As  I  recall  how  the  bright  days  earlier  than 
June  often  have  a  chilliness  in  them  and  how  the  bright  days 
of  later  summer  often  are  dry  and  parched,  I  am  filled  with 
a  deeper  appreciation  of  this  perfect  day;  and  I  say  with  feel- 
ing: "Now  if  ever,  come  perfect  days."  As  I  see  everything 
so  filled  with  life  and  warmth  and  happiness,  it  makes  me 
think  of  Heaven,  the  place  of  complete  happiness.  It  seems 
as  if  Heaven  has  poured  its  very  spirit  into  this  day,  as  the 
violinist  pours  his  soul  into  the  instrument  on  which  he  plays. 
Indeed,  as  I  feel  the  intensely  life-filled  and  yet  peaceful  atmos- 
phere hovering  over  the  earth,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  Heaven 
were  actually  bending  over  the  earth  and  listening  to  see  how 
well  the  earth  responds  to  the  life  it  is  pouring  into  all  the 
earth,  as  a  violinist  bends  over  his  instrument  and  listens  to 
its  tones. 

As  I  imagine  Heaven,  sympathetically  bending  over  the  earth, 
listening  to  find  what  response  there  is,  it  brings  me  into  closer 
sympathy  with  the  scene.  I  also  bend  forward  to  look  and 
listen.  Everywhere  I  both  see  and  hear  the  signs  of  life.  I 
see  life  in  the  light  that  glistens  from  the  shiny  surfaces  of 
bright  new  leaves.  I  hear  life  in  the  calling  of  animals,  in 
the  singing  of  birds,  and  in  the  buzzing  of  insects,  all  blended 
together  in  a  full  murmur  of  happiness. 

While  I  am  looking  down  at  the  life  that  is  everywhere 
showing  itself,  the  thought  comes  to  me  that  this  fullness  of 
life  is  entering  even  the  clod;  for  from  every  clod  I  see  spring- 
ing some  form  of  life.  It  occurs  to  me  that,  shut  up  within 
the  darkness  of  each  clod,  there  is  life  not  yet  showing  itself 
but  already  feeling  the  expanding  thrill  of  this  June  sun.  I 
find  myself  imagining  what  it  would  be  to  be  that  little  life 


214  CONCEPTIONS  IN  LITERATURE 

within  the  clod  and  to  be  filled  with  a  burning  desire  to  become 
something  more;  for  the  great  power  of  the  sun's  heat  is 
entering  that  life  and  making  it  expand,  making  it  reach  up- 
ward, as  it  were.  I  find  myself  imagining  that  I  am  shut  in, 
as  that  life  is  shut  in,  in  darkness.  I  imagine  myself  feeling 
my  way  and  reaching  desperately  upward,  struggling  for  freer 
air  and  light.  Now  I  imagine  that  my  prison-walls  have  sud- 
denly crumbled  away,  as  the  clod  crumbles  away  from  the 
life  that  is  expanding  within  it,  and  that  I  find  myself  up  in 
the  light,  a  free  life — a  soul! — just  as  I  see  the  triumphant  life 
"in  grass  and  flowers"  which  have  reached  the  light. 

The  above  conceptions  are  commendable  for  many  rea- 
sons, but  most  of  all,  perhaps,  for  the  fact  that  the  author 
of  this  paper  did  not  spoil  her  work  by  referring  to,  or 
speaking  about,  the  "lines"  of  anyone  after  she  actually 
began  to  build  her  conceptions.  She  merely  glanced  at 
the  words,  in  each  phrase  of  Lowell's,  long  enough  to  find 
the  exact  thought  he  expressed,  then  she  immediately  lost 
sight  of  the  fact  that  there  were  any  "lines"  under  con- 
sideration. She  surrounded  herself,  imaginatively,  with  the 
things  which  she  felt  would  cause  her  to  express  that  very 
thought,  and  then  proceeded  to  build  that  thought. 

Unless  the  intending  speaker  pursues  this  plan,  he  will 
find  himself  merely  following  the  words  of  the  author  of 
the  selection  he  is  studying,  and  repeating,  parrot-like,  the 
things  the  author  says.  The  result  will  be  that  he  will  not 
have  any  true  conceptions  of  the  selection,  but  only  a  para- 
phrase of  the  author's  words.  This  will  do  little  toward 
making  him  a  better  thinker  or  a  better  reader. 

The  student  builds  real  conceptions  of  a  piece  of 
literature  only  when  he  finds  what  things  would  cause 
him  to  use  the  very  words  which  the  author  of  that  piece 
used,  and  then  allows  those  causes  so  to  work  upon  him 


ANALYSIS  OF  LITERARY  CONCEPTIONS         215 

that  he  feels  like  saying  those  exact  words,  in  the  exact 
order  in  which  the  author  said  them. 

In  a  manner  similar  to  the  one  followed  in  the  paper 
quoted  above  (observing  the  laws  stated  on  pp.  209-211) 
the  conceptions  of  any  piece  of  literature  must  be  built 
before  the  selection  can  be  read  as  it  should  be  read. 

Whenever  characters  are  introduced,  in  the  selection  you 
are  trying  to  conceive,  when  you  come  to  the  quoted  words, 
supposed  to  be  spoken  by  a  character,  you  should,  of  course, 
instantly  conceive  yourself  as  becoming  that  character. 
You  should  then  as  that  character  (not  as  yourself)  con- 
ceive everything  until  you  come  to  the  end  of  the  quoted 
words,  when  you  should  conceive  yourself  as  again  becom- 
ing the  author  of  the  selection. 

This  same  principle  is  found  not  only  when  characters 
are  introduced,  in  the  writing,  but  also  when  new  situations 
arise.  You  will  frequently  find  that  the  author  (whose 
selection  you  are  conceiving)  is,  one  moment,  describing 
something  observed  from  one  situation;  and  then,  the  next 
moment,  is  describing  something  that  could  be  observed 
only  from  a  very  different  situation  or  location.  In  such  a 
case,  you  should,  of  course,  instantly  conceive  yourself  as 
taking  the  new  situation.  You  should  then  conceive  things 
from  this  new  point  of  view  until  it  is  evident  that  the 
author  has  shifted  to  his  former  view-point  or  to  still 
another  new  one.  You  should  then  conceive  yourself  as 
quickly  changing  situations  as  before. 

Experiments  in  Building  Literary  Conceptions 

As  much  time  as  you  can  afford  to  give  to  this  phase 
of  the  work  you  should  now  devote  to  forming  conceptions 


2l6  CONCEPTIONS  IN  LITERATURE 

of  short  selections  from  literature.  If  you  expect  to  spe- 
cialize in  the  interpretative  form  of  public  speaking,  you 
can  hardly  spend  too  much  time  experimenting  in  this  par- 
ticular part  of  your  preparation.  If  you  expect  to  do  no 
public  reading  but  only  to  make  public  addresses,  you  will 
find  it  greatly  to  your  advantage  to  spend  a  few  days,  at 
least,  in  vigorously  re-building  the  conceptions  which  the 
minds  of  noted  writers  have  built.  There  is  a  three-fold 
benefit  which  the  student  of  speaking  who  expects  only  to 
make  speeches  of  his  own,  may  get  from  these  experiments. 
First,  they  enable  him  to  get  a  fuller,  broader  and  deeper 
knowledge  of  the  literature  he  reads,  than  he  can  get  in 
any  other  way.  Secondly,  they  fix  in  mind,  as  no  other 
method  can  do,  the  choice  things  he  reads,  and  make  them 
ready  for  future  use  in  his  speeches.  Thirdly,  these  ex- 
periments cause  the  student  unconsciously  to  adopt  the 
method  of  conception- forming  which  the  great  minds  have 
used.  In  this  way,  the  experiments  make  the  intending 
speaker  a  much  stronger  and  more  effective  thinker. 

An  excellent  selection  with  which  to  begin,  is  a  part  of 
the  prelude  to  part  first  of  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal,  by 
Lowell,  beginning  with  the  line  "And  what  is  so  rare  as  a 
day  in  June?'*  and  ending  with  the  line  "That  skies  are 
clear  and  grass  is  growing."  This  may  well  be  followed 
by  a  second  experiment  on  the  first  few  lines  of  the  pre- 
lude to  part  second  of  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal,  beginning 
with  the  first  line  and  ending  with  the  line  "As  the  lashes 
of  light  that  trim  the  stars."  As  a  third  selection  for 
experiments  in  conception-building,  few  will  be  found  better 
than  Paul  Revere' s  Ride,  by  Longfellow.  If  this  selection 
is  used,  it  will  be  found  advantageous  to  divide  it  into  three 


BUILDING  LITERARY  CONCEPTIONS  21 7 

experiments.  (These  selections  should  be  in  any  library. 
They  are  in  the  poems  of  Lowell,  and  of  Longfellow,  pub- 
lished by  Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston.) 

Whatever  selections  you  use  for  the  experiments,  let  the 
conceptions  be.  built  in  the  thorough  manner  outlined  on 
pages  209-215.  Do  not  merely  make  a  paraphrase,  or  a 
description,  or  an  abstract  of  the  selection  studied.  So 
thoroughly  put  yourself  in  the  place  of  the  one  creating 
this  selection,  that  your  whole  attention  is  directed  to  the 
things  you  sense,  imagine,  think,  and  feel  which  cause  you 
to  say  each  single  phrase.  Realize  that  the  entire  experi- 
ment is  an  effort  to  find  what  things  it  is  necessary  to 
sense,  imagine,  think,  and  feel,  to  cause  you  to  say  every 
single  word  of  this  selection  as  your  own.  To  do  this,  you 
must,  of  course,  consider  only  one  short  phrase  at  a  time. 
When  you  have  realized  what  things  cause  you  to  say  the 
first  phrase,  tell  aloud  to  an  imaginary  friend  beside  you, 
just  what  imaginative  experiences  you  have,  at  this  mo- 
ment, which  cause  you  to  say  that  phrase.  Do  the  same 
with  every  phrase.  Keep  in  mind  that  your  object  in  mak- 
ing the  experiment,  is  to  become  ready  to  stand  before  the 
class,  and,  imagining  that  you  have  taken  the  class  with 
you  to  the  scene  where  you  build  the  selection,  to  describe 
to  the  class  the  process  by  which  you  have  formed  each 
conception  out  of  the  imaginary  things  which  you  see,  hear, 
and  otherwise  experience.  Be  prepared  to  do  this.  Also 
submit  a  written  description  of  this  process,  similar  to  the 
one  quoted  on  pages  212-214, 


CHAPTER  XI 

MEMORY 
Its  Real  Value  in  Life 

WILLIAM  JAMES,  probably  the  greatest  psychologist  of 
modern  times,  declares  (Psych.  I.  644) :  "All  the  intel- 
lectual value  for  us  of  a  state  of  mind  depends  on  our 
after-memory  of  it."  The  same  author  says  later  (Psych.  I. 
650)  :  "In  practical  as  in  theoretical  life,  the  man  whose 
acquisitions  stick  is  the  man  who  is  always^achieving  and 
advancing,  whilst  his  neighbors,  spending  most  of  their 
time  in  relearning  what  they  once  knew  but  have  forgotten, 
simply  hold  their  own."  If  this  is  true  of  life  in  general, 
how  much  more  true  is  it  of  the  life  of  one  who  would 
speak  in  public!  Not  only  must  he  remember  the  im- 
portant events  in  his  own  life,  he  must  also  remember 
those  of  the  community  in  which  he  speaks,  and  of  the 
world  at  large.  More  than  this,  he  must  remember  what 
he  intended  to  say  about  these  things.  Otherwise,  he  will 
be  but  a  child  of  circumstance.  He  may  speak  well,  but 
lacking  that  control  of  memory,  he  is  more  likely  to  be  an 
absolute  failure.  At  least  the  chances  are  that  he  will 
not  grow,  that  he  will  speak  no  better  to-morrow  than  he 
did  to-day — probably  not  so  well. 

218 


CAN  MEMORY  BE  CULTIVATED?  21 9 


Can  Memory  Be  Cultivated? 

If  this  function  of  the  mind  plays  so  important  a  part 
in  real  success,  the  question  naturally  arises,  can  it  be 
cultivated?  Can  we  acquire  it  if  we  have  it  not?  Can  we 
improve  it  by  training  ?  Many  people  hold  to  the  belief  that 
memory  is  a  "gift,"  and  think  that  those  who  possess  it  are 
personally  favored  of  God.  They  believe  that  those  who 
lack  it  are  outside  of  the  "chosen  few."  We  de  not  deny 
that  some  persons  have  memories  more  retentive  than 
others.  Let  us  admit  the  fact  that  the  training  of  memory 
is  often  difficult;  that  in  some  cases  the  effort  to  develop 
a  ready  memory  seems  almost  useless.  We  say  almost,  for 
we  have  never  yet  found  a  case  where  some  improvement 
could  not  be  effected.  One  of  the  most  remarkable  in- 
stances of  memory  development  we  have  ever  known  was 
that  of  a  young  man  twenty-one  years  of  age,  a  senior  in 
college.  He  had  been  honored  by  his  class  with  the  dis- 
tinction of  class-orator.  He  had  tried  to  decline  the  honor, 
but,  as  he  was  brilliant  in  his  studies  and  a  great  favorite 
with  the  student-body,  his  class  would  not  let  him  off.  He 
came  to  us  in  great  distress.  He  had  written  an  excellent 
speech,  but  declared  that  it  was  simply  impossible  for  him 
to  memorize  it.  Then,  with  an  anguish  in  his  face  we 
shall  never  forget,  he  confessed  that  his  life  was  a  bitter 
disappointment  to  him;  that  it  had  been  his  ambition  to 
become  an  orator,  but  that  his  failure  of  memory  had  made 
it  impossible. 

We  put  him  to  the  test— he  could  not  repeat  from 
memory  a  single  paragraph  of  his  own  speech.  We  had  but 


22O  MEMORY 

two  months  in  which  to  help  him.  Within  that  time,  under 
careful  guidance,  not  only  did  he  memorize  his  oration  and 
deliver  it  most  forcefully,  but  he  got  that  grip  on  himself 
that  enabled  him,  from  that  time  on,  to  memorize  any 
speech  at  will.  He  has  told  us  since  that  his  memory  has 
continued  to  be  ready  and  sure. 

While  this  case  was  a  more  extreme  one  than  is  often  en- 
countered, it  is  one  of  many  cases  where  gratifying  results 
have  been  accomplished  under  our  personal  observation. 
We  will  outline  later  in  the  chapter  the  methods  which  we 
have  employed.  Let  us  add  here  that  experience  has  taught 
us  that  improvement  of  the  memory  can  come  only  through 
the  improvement  of  the  method  of  memorizing.  This  be- 
lief is  strongly  supported  by  William  James  (Psych.  667), 
by  M.  H.  Holbrook  (How  to  Strengthen  Memory,  p.  39, 
seq. ;  100,  seq.)  and  by  many  other  authoritative  students 
of  the  mind. 


What  Acts  of  the  Mind  Constitute  Memory 

Before  we  attempt  to  develop  and.  strengthen  the 
memory,  let  us  determine  clearly  what  memory  is.  One's 
first  thought  may  be  that  everyone  knows  what  memory 
is.  But  memory  is  not  a  simple  but  a  complex  function 
of  the  mind.  A  careful  investigation  of  the  ideas  people 
have  of  the  mental  acts  necessary  to  remember  anything, 
proves  that  the  average  conception  of  memory  is  very 
vague  and  indistinct.  This,  we  believe,  is  one  principal 
reason  why  people  remember  so  poorly. 

Psychologists  generally  agree  that  memory  includes  four 


WHAT  ACTS  OF  THE  MIND  CONSTITUTE  MEMORY   221 

different  acts.  These  acts  are:  i.  Retention;  2.  Repro- 
duction; 3.  Representation;  4.  Recognition.  When  we 
seek  the  meaning  of  these  terms,  we  find  that  Retention 
means  the  holding  a  thing  in  mind  after  we  have  ceased, 
for  the  time  being,  to  be  conscious  of  that  thing.  In  other 
words,  it  means  the  holding  of  the  impress  of  that  thing 
during  a  period  when  we  are  conscious  of  other  things, 
or  (as  in  case  of  an  accident  or  illness  that  makes  us 
unconscious)  during  a  period  when  we  are  conscious  of 
nothing.  For  instance:  Two  persons  are  talking.  Their 
conversation  is  interrupted  by  an  unexpected  occurrence 
that  completely  occupies  their  minds  for  some  time.  Later 
these  two  take  up  the  subject  of  conversation  just  where 
they  dropped  it.  They  have  retained  that  subject.  Some- 
thing has  caused  that  subject  to  stick.  What  the  mind  does 
that  makes  things  stick,  we  shall  consider  later. 

Reproduction  means  the  act  of  producing  a  thing  again. 
To  produce  a  thing  is  to  build  that  thing  or  to  cause  it  to 
grow,  out  of  the  elements  or  fundamental  parts  of  which 
it  is  made.  To  re-p reduce  a  thing  in  mind,  therefore,  means 
to  cause  that  thing  again  to  grow  out  of  the  several  parts 
which  together  go  to  make  that  thing  up.  In  our  study  of 
the  imagination,  we  found  that  this  is  exactly  what  the 
mind  does  in  the  act  which  we  call  reproductive  imagina- 
tion. It  recreates  the  various  sensations  which  it  formerly 
received  from  a  certain  thing.  When  it  does  this,  we  say 
the  imagination  has  reproduced  that  thing.  It  is  clear,  then, 
that  the  second  act  of  memory,  the  act  of  reproduction,  is 
purely  an  act  of  reproductive  imagination. 

Representation,  which  psychologists  call  the  third  act  of 
memory,  means  showing  or  exhibiting  a  thing  through  its 


222  MEMORY 

likeness.  How  does  the  mind  happen  to  have  a  likeness 
of  anything?  Have  we  not  learned  that  the  mind  holds 
a  likeness,  or  image,  of  anything  only  when  it  has  caused 
that  thing  to  grow  out  of  the  various  sensations  received 
from  that  thing  ?  Does  this  not  make  it  clear,  that  when  the 
mind  wishes  to  show  to  itself  a  likeness  of  anything,  it 
must  reproduce  its  image  of  that  thing  through  an  act  of 
reproductive  imagination?  From  these  facts,  we  see  that 
representation  is  the  outgrowth,  or  rather  the  culmination, 
of  reproduction.  When  reproductive  imagination  has  put 
together  again  the  various  sensations  which  were  once  re- 
ceived from  a  thing,  it  holds  these  united  sensations  before 
the  mind,  as  much  as  to  say  to  the  mind :  "There  you  have 
it."  So  we  find  that  Representation,  as  well  as  Reproduc- 
tion, is  purely  an  act  of  reproductive  imagination. 

When  we  come  to  the  mental  action  which  psychologists 
call  the  fourth  act  of  memory,  we  seem  to  be  meeting  a 
friend  we  have  met  before  in  our  study  of  public  speaking. 
Did  we  not  define  Conception  as  the  function  by  which  we 
recognize  a  thing  as  the  same  as  we  have  known  before? 

When  we  investigate  the  peculiar  kind  of  recognizing 
that  is  done  when  we  remember  a  thing,  we  begin  to  see 
why  Recognition  has  been  called  an  act  of  memory  as  well 
as  an  act  of  conception.  We  find  that: 

In  memory  we  recognize  a  thing  not  only  as  the  same 
as  we  have  known  before,  but  also  as  belonging  to  a 
former  experience. 

In  other  words,  we  find  that  we  may  have  a  conception 
of  a  thing  and  yet  not  remember  that  thing.  For  instance, 
suppose  that  a  year  ago  you  met  a  certain  person.  Sup- 
pose that  you  had  a  very  brief  conversation  with  that  person. 


WHAT  ACTS  OF  THE  MIND  CONSTITUTE  MEMORY   223 

In  those  few  moments,  you  formed  a  fairly  distinct  con- 
ception of  that  person's  appearance.  To-day  you  meet  that 
person  again.  At  once  you  say  (mentally  at  least),  "I 
recognize  your  face,  but  I  don't  seem  to  remember  you." 
When  you  use  those  words,  you  speak  an  exact  truth.  You 
have  a  conception  of  that  person,  but  you  do  not  remember 
him.  This  act  of  your  mind  is  one  that  happens  often  in 
the  lives  of  all  of  us.  It  illustrates  the  difference  between 
the  two  kinds  of  recognizing.  Let  us  now  suppose  that 
after  looking  for  a  few  moments  into  the  face  of  this 
person,  whom  you  recognize  but  do  not  remember,  you  sud- 
denly exclaim:  "O  yes,  I  remember  you.  I  met  you  in 
the  station  at  Albany,  last  July."  What  has  your  mind 
now  recognized  that  it  did  not  recognize  before?  It  has 
recognized  this  person  as  a  part  of  a  certain  place  and 
time  in  your  past  life.  In  other  words,  your  mind  holds 
a  compound  conception,  including  the  person  remembered 
together  with  other  things  formerly  associated  with  that 
person.  This  is  the  kind  of  recognizing  that  must  take 
place  to  make  the  act  of  recognition  a  part  of  memory. 
We  might  say  that  if  memory  wishes  a  thing  recognized, 
it  employs  conception  to  do  the  recognizing  but  insists 
that  that  thing  must  be  recognized  in  connection  with  other 
things  formerly  associated  with  it  in  time  or  space. 

A  thing  is  really  remembered  when,  and  only  when,  it 
is  recognized  as  belonging  to  a  certain  place  or  time  in 
the  past  life  of  the  one  remembering  it. 


224  MEMORY 


Where  Memory  Begins 

What  we  have  said  concerning  the  nature  of  memory 
should  make  the  fact  clear  that  memory  depends  almost 
wholly  on  the  act  of  retaining.  If  we  perform  the  acts 
necessary  to  make  a  thing  stick  in  the  mind,  imagination 
and  conception  take  care  of  the  work  of  recalling  that  thing 
or  bringing  it  up  for  future  use.  Therefore,  the  develop- 
ment of  memory  depends  on  the  development  of  those 
activities  of  mind  which  store  things  away  for  future  use. 
Have  not  the  above  observations  given  us  some  valuable 
hints  as  to  what  those  activities  of  mind  are  which  store 
things  away  for  future  use?  We  have  found  that  when- 
ever a  thing  is  remembered,  the  mind  holds  a  compound 
conception,  made  up  of  the  thing  remembered  together  with 
other  things  which  happened  at  the  same  time  the  thing 
remembered  happened.  Is  it  not  obvious,  then,  that  the  act 
of  mind  which  made  that  thing  stick,  was  the  forming  of 
this  compound  conception  which  included  with  the  thing 
to  be  remembered,  other  things  associated  with  that  thing 
at  that  moment?  At  least  it  should  be  clear  that  this  con- 
ception was  being  formed  at  the  moment  when  those  acts 
of  mind  occurred,  which  caused  the  thing  to  stick  in 
memory.  And,  since  the  forming  of  a  strong  compound 
conception  occupies  the  entire  mind,  it  is  fairly  proved  that 
the  act  of  mind  upon  which  memory  rests,  is  the  forming 
of  a  compound  conception  including,  with  the  thing  to  be 
remembered,  other  things  associated  with  that  thing.  In 
this  act  memory  begins. 

M.  Ribot  (Psych,  of  Emotion,  p.  157)  says:     "The  re- 


ATTENTION  AND  MEMORY  225 

vivability  of  an  impression  is  in  direct  relation  to  its  com- 
plexity. William  James  (Talks  to  Teachers,  p.  123)  says: 
"The  secret  of  good  memory  is  the  secret  of  forming  di- 
verse and  multiple  associations  with  every  fact  we  care 
to  retain."  Later  he  adds :  "The  one  who  thinks  over  his 
experiences  most,  and  weaves  them  into  the  most  systematic 
relations  with  each  other,  will  be  the  one  with  the  best 
memory."  In  other  words,  anything  is  retained,  with  cer- 
tainty, in  memory,  only  when  it  is  conceived  as  a  part  of 
other  things  which  are  associated  with  it  and  serve  as  a 
setting  for  it. 


Attention  and  Memory 

There  is  a  very  old  saying:  "Attention  is  the  stuff  of 
which  memory  is  made."  We  now  see  the  meaning  and 
the  significance  of  that  saying.  We  have  found,  in  our 
study  of  Sensation,  that  attention  means  holding  the  mind 
firmly  on  the  thing  thought  about  until  something  of  the 
inner  nature  of  that  thing  is  realized.  Whenever  this  is 
done,  the  thing  thought  about  makes  an  impression  some- 
where within  the  mind  of  the  thinker,  that  is  not  easy  to 
obliterate.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  this  is  done  by  bringing 
the  action  of  the  different  senses  to  bear  on  one  point  of 
the  mind  while  a  strong  compound  conception  is  being 
formed.  If  heavy  artillery,  from  various  directions,  is 
turned  upon  one  point,  the  impression  is  likely  to  be  rather 
deep.  Unlike  the  artillery,  the  action  of  the  senses  is  not 
destructive.  Like  artillery  focussed  on  one  point : 

When  the  attention  holds  the  mind  before  one  certain 


226  MEMORY 

thing  and  sets  different  senses  to  work  firing  their  mes- 
sages concerning  this  one  thing,  into  the  brain,  the  im- 
pression is  deep  and  lasting.  The  first  reason  why  at- 
tention produces  memory,  is  because  it  holds  the  mind 
in  one  place  long  enough  to  let  the  various  senses  act 
upon  it  and  because  it  sets  the  various  senses  to  acting 
vigorously  on  one  point  of  the  mind. 

There  is  another  thing  that  attention  does  during  the 
forming  of  a  compound  conception,  that  greatly  strengthens 
memory.  Sometimes  it  is  not  enough  for  the  mind  to  be 
held  before  one  thing  while  vigorous  messages  from  that 
thing  are  being  focussed  upon  the  mind  through  the  various 
senses.  It  is  necessary  also  that  attention  stir  the  mind 
of  the  observer,  to  act  vigorously  upon  the  thing  from 
which  the  messages  are  being  received.  To  illustrate:  A 
friend  is  explaining  to  me  the  peculiar  characteristics  of 
an  automobile  that  stands  a  short  distance  before  us.  His 
story  is  interesting,  and,  while  he  tells  it,  I  receive  such 
strong  sense-impressions  from  the  car  at  which  I  look, 
that  I  feel  I  cannot  forget  what  he  says  to  me  about  this 
car.  An  hour  later,  we  two  are  crossing  a  street  in  another 
part  of  the  city.  We  are  talking  and  do  not  notice  that 
we  are  in  danger.  Suddenly  we  are  startled  by  the  loud 
"honk!  honk!"  of  an  automobile  horn.  I  glance  back  and 
see,  to  my  horror,  that  the  very  machine  which  an  hour 
ago  we  had  been  examining,  now  at  a  high  rate  of  speed, 
is  almost  upon  us.  I  seize  my  friend  by  his  arm,  and,  by 
a  supreme  effort,  succeed  in  dragging  him  and  myself  out 
of  the  path  of  the  car.  The  next  day,  I  try  to  recall  what 
my  friend  had  said  to  me  about  the  characteristics  of  that 
automobile,  but  I  find  that  I  have  forgotten  practically 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  MEMORY  FOR  SPEAKING  '227 

everything  he  said.  In  strong  contrast  to  this,  years  after- 
ward I  find  the  dangerous  experience  I  had  with  that 
automobile,  almost  as  fresh  as  ever  in  memory.  The  differ- 
ence in  the  strength  of  my  memory  in  the  two  cases,  was 
clearly  due  to  the  fact  that  in  the  latter  experience  my 
mind  was  stirred  to  act  vigorously  upon  the  thing  from 
which  the  sense-impressions  were  received,  while  in  the 
former  experience  my  mind  was  comparatively  quiet. 

The  law  of  mind  that  is  active  here,  is  stated  by  M. 
Ribot  (Psychology  of  the  Emotions,  p.  179),  in  these  words: 
"When  two  or  more  states  of  consciousness  have  been  ac- 
companied by  the  same  emotional  state,  they  tend  to  be 
associated  with  one  another."  Strong  emotional  states  arise 
from  strong  attitudes  of  mind.  Therefore,  if  we  wish  to 
bind  things  together  in  memory,  we  must  do  so  by  taking 
strong  attitudes  toward  them  when  we  are  trying  to  fix  them 
in  memory. 

Attention  makes  memory  strongest  when  it  stirs  the 
mind  to  strong  attitudes  while  a  compound  conception 
is  being  formed. 


The  Development  of  Memory  for  Speaking 

How  do  the  laws  of  memory  which  we  have  just  ob- 
served, apply  when  one  wishes  to  memorize  a  speech?  If 
we  remember  a  thing  because  we  have  built  a  strong  com- 
pound conception  of  that  thing,  together  with  other  things 
associated  with  that  thing  at  the  moment  when  we  memorize 
it,  what  associations  are  we  to  find  for  the  words  we  may 
wish  to  memorize?  It  is  clear  that  every  word  memorized 


228  MEMORY 

should  bring  before  the  mind  the  thing  for  which  that  word 
stands.  It  is  clear  also  that  the  thing  which  each  word 
brings  before  the  mind  should  then  become  so  real  in 
imagination,  that  the  mind  conceives  it  associated  with  other 
things,  as  it  would  be  associated  in  ordinary  life. 

Other  important  associations  help  the  student  of  speech 
to  memorize.  With  the  things  which  the  word  brings  before 
the  mind,  he  may  associate  his  own  impulses,  those  of  his 
body  as  well  as  those  of  his  mind.  He  can  make  his  think- 
ing, his  feeling,  his  voice,  his  action  a  very  part  of  the  thing 
memorized.  Not  only  can  he  do  this,  but,  if  he  is  to  pre- 
pare his  work  correctly,  he  must  do  so. 

Each  one  of  us  who  has  memorized  selections  or  speeches, 
and  then  presented  them  before  a  class  or  an  audience,  has 
probably  wondered  how  it  could  be  that  when  he  knew  the 
words  so  well  in  his  own  room,  he  could  forget  them  so 
easily  when  he  attempted  to  repeat  them  before  others. 
There  is  a  definite  reason  for  this.  When  he  memorized 
that  speech,  he  probably  did  so  in  silence,  that  is,  not  aloud. 
Or  if  he  vocalized  it,  he  most  likely  did  so  in  an  undertone, 
or  in  a  loud,  careless,  declamatory  style,  or  in  some  other 
manner  which  he  would  not  care  to  employ  before  an  audi- 
ence. If  his  imagination  was  active  and  if  he  was  in  the 
spirit  of  the  speech  when  he  committed  it,  he  allowed  him- 
self complete  freedom  of  action,  and  employed  many  ges- 
tures and  other  motions  which  he  was  either  ashamed  or 
afraid  or  too  proud  to  use  before  his  audience.  He 
"crammed"  the  words,  perhaps,  with  no  thought  of  an 
audience  or  of  anything  else  except  to  get  those  words  "by 
heart."  In  any  event,  whatever  the  method  he  employed, 
there  was  some  essential  difference  between  his  feeling. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  MEMORY  FOR  SPEAKING   229 

his  attitude,  toward  the  speech,  toward  himself,  and  toward 
his  audience,  when  he  was  preparing  the  speech,  and  when 
he  attempted  to  present  it. 

Suppose  that  you  are  the  one  who  has  memorized  in  any 
one  of  these  ways.  Suppose  there  is  a  certain  part  of  the 
speech  that  demands  a  strong  voice  calling  to  someone 
in  the  distance,  and  suppose  that  when  you  were  practicing 
the  speech,  with  nobody  else  present,  you  used  such  a  voice 
freely  and  unconsciously,  addressing  the  imaginary  person 
to  whom  you  called,  but  not  thinking  of  the  audience. 
When,  in  due  time,  you  stand  before  the  audience,  and  come 
to  that  part  of  the  speech,  you  are  afraid  you  may  make 
a  fool  of  yourself  by  calling  out  in  that  way.  So  you  utter 
the  words  in  a  voice  and  manner  not  at  all  like  the  one 
you  used  before.  Will  you  be  surprised  if  you  forget?  You 
should  rather  be  surprised  if  you  did  not  forget.  The  attitude 
of  your  mind  is  so  completely  changed,  that  your  attention 
is  now  taken  absolutely  away  from  all  the  associations  you 
had  before,  and  is  now  concerned  with  an  all-absorbing 
aspect  of  the  speech  which  did  not  exist  in  your  former 
consciousness.  A  strong  new  sensation  has  crowded  out 
the  old  and  weaker  ones.  This  new  sensation  you  receive 
from  the  audience.  It  makes  so  deep,  so  new  an  impres- 
sion on  the  brain  that  the  old  ones  are  obliterated. 

We  have  spoken  of  these  instances  as  if  they  were  merely 
possible  ones;  but  every  situation  we  have  depicted  has 
been  observed  many  times  in  classes  in  public  speaking. 
Practically  without  exception,  the  results  were  such  as  we 
have  stated.  From  these  observations,  we  conclude  that 
in  speech,  accuracy  and  readiness  of  memory  are  ac- 
quired in  proportion  as  each  thing  to  be  spoken  of  is 


23O  MEMORY 

conceived  in  its  proper  setting  and  sequence;  in  propor- 
tion as  all  the  attitudes  of  the  speaker's  mind,  toward 
the  message,  toward  the  speaker's  self,  and  toward  the 
audience,  are  definitely  associated  with  the  speech  at  all 
times  during  its  preparation;  and  in  proportion  as  these 
attitudes  are  made  so  strong  by  frequent,  careful  re- 
hearsals, that  they  shall  overcome  all  confusing  attitudes 
which  the  occasion  of  the  speech  may  present. 


To  Memorize  Mere  Words  Destroys  Memory 

These  facts  show  us  how  worse-than-useless  it  is  to 
commit  to  memory  mere  words.  And  this  should  cause 
us  to  stop  and  think  what  results  must  follow  the  vicious 
habit  of  "cramming"  lessons,  which  some  students  are 
guilty  of,  especially  near  the  close  of  the  session.  It  must 
now  be  clear  that  no  possible  intellectual  benefit  can  come 
from  that  practice  of  stuffing  the  brain,  within  a  few  hours, 
full  of  meaningless  points  and  facts.  It  must  be  seen 
that  when  this  is  done  without  sufficient  attention,  and 
without  sufficient  repetition  to  set  up  any  habit  in  the 
nervous  system  or  in  the  brain,  the  inevitable  tendency 
must  be  to  destroy  one's  ability  to  remember. 

For  this  reason,  much  of  our  educational  system  of  to- 
day is  extremely  bad.  The  motto  "Not  how  much,  but 
how  well"  was  employed  by  the  most  thoroughly  educative 
teacher  the  writer  ever  knew.  We  are  compelled  to  admit 
that  that  motto  has  little  vogue  in  our  schools  and  colleges 
to-day.  The  standard  with  many  teachers  seems  to  be  to 
have  the  student  read  all  that  it  is  possible  to  read  within 


CONCRETENESS  TO  DEVELOP  MEMORY   23! 

a  certain  time.  Volume  after  volume  is  hurried  through 
in  a  mad  rush  that  reminds  one  more  of  the  way  a  thresh- 
ing-machine is  "fed"  than  of  the  leading  forth,  or  the 
educating  of  a  human  soul.  Someone  has  said,  "We  should 
do  as  the  threshing-machine  does,  select  the  wheat  from 
the  chaff  and  save  the  wheat."  But  do  not  forget  that 
when  so  much  separating  must  be  done,  you  may  become 
a  mere  separator.  You  are  then  the  MACHINE.  Will  you 
grow  stronger  by  that  process?  Can  a  machine  grow 
stronger  ?  Or  do  you  find  the  machine  worn  out  in  a  short 
time  by  such  pell-mell  rushing?  If  selection,  which  is  the 
essential  function  of  the  threshing-machine,  were  the  end 
of  education,  then  such  a  method  would  be  excellent.  If 
now  and  then  such  a  practice  is  indulged  merely  to  prepare 
material  which  is  then  to  be  slowly  digested  and  re-digested 
and  built  into  the  personality  of  the  student,  day  by  day, 
then  again  we  may  say,  well  and  good.  But  when  such 
dashing  work  is  made  the  end  of  education,  too  much  can- 
not be  said  against  it.  On  this  point,  we  are  glad  to  find 
the  warm  support  of  Dr.  James  (Psych.  I,  663). 


The  Value  of  Concreteness  to  Develop  Memory 

Dr.  Ebbinghaus,  of  Germany,  by  scientific  and  very  heroic 
experiments  (Ueber  das  Gedachtniss,  Experimental  Unter- 
suchungen,  1885,  p.  64)  has  given  us  exact  measurements 
of  various  forms  of  memory,  and  through  these  has  proved 
the  uselessness  of  abstract  memory.  He  tells  us  that  no 
amount  of  repetition  spent  on  nonsense-verses,  beyond  a 
certain  length,  will  enable  one  to  retain  them  over  twenty- 


232  MEMORY 

four  hours  without  error.  Cases  may  be  found  where  short 
snatches  of  abstract  and  even  senseless  matter  have  been 
retained  through  many  years.  I  have  in  mind  a  woman 
who,  in  her  youth,  had  been  fascinated  by  the  peculiar  ab- 
breviations at  the  top  of  the  pages  in  an  encyclopaedia,  so 
much  so  that  she  strung  them  together  and  memorized 
them.  Now,  many  years  later,  she  frequently  repeats  this 
jingling  jargon  to  the  great  amusement  of  those  who  hear 
her.  In  all  such  cases,  however,  it  will  be  found  that 
definite,  though  peculiar,  associations  have  been  built  up 
which  impart  a  certain  kind  of  concreteness.  In  the  case 
cited,  investigation  revealed  the  fact  that  the  child-mind  had 
possessed  a  keen  sense  of  humor  that  gave  her  an  attitude 
toward  imaginary  persons  to  whom  she  might  repeat  these 
syllables.  Soon  her  father  heard  her  mumbling  away  to 
herself,  learned  what  she  was  doing,  was  highly  amused, 
and  had  her  repeat  the  sounds  to  others.  This,  of  course, 
set  up  at  once  a  real  concreteness,  her  attitude  toward  these 
real  persons.  Frequent  repetitions  through  the  years  have 
reinforced  this  attitude  until  the  one-time  mere  jargon  has 
become  what  we  might  call  perfect  artificial  concreteness. 
On  this  point  of  concreteness,  some  of  the  best  authors 
make  what  appears  to  be  a  decided  error.  Among  these 
are  M.  Ribot  in  his  Les  Maladies  de  la  Memoir e,  p.  133, 
and  Kussmaul  in  his  Storungen  der  Sprache.  Ribot  quotes 
Kussmaul  to  the  effect  that  the  concreter  the  conception  is, 
the  sooner  is  its  name  forgotten.  These  authors  all  de- 
clare that  names,  and  especially  proper  names,  are  the  first 
to  be  forgotten.  Dr.  James  wisely  points  out  the  fact  that 
such  proper  names  as  those  of  our  immediate  friends  and 
relatives  are  remembered  best  of  all.  This  makes  clear  the 


ACTION  IN  DEVELOPING  MEMORY  233 

fact,  and  experience  has  proved  it  in  the  present  writer's 
own  life  many  times,  that  the  names  of  concrete  things  are 
remembered  better  and  longer  than  any  other  words  when 
they  are  definitely  associated  with  those  things  and  made 
to  become  concrete  realities.  These  facts  prove  beyond  a 
doubt  that  concreteness  may  and  should  be  an  aid  to  mem- 
ory, and  that  when  the  names  of  concrete  things  are  for- 
gotten it  is  because  those  names  have  not  been  made  a  part 
of  the  concreteness. 

Previously  we  found  that  without  concreteness  it  is  prac- 
tically impossible  to  gain  and  hold  the  interest  of  the  audi- 
ence. It  should  be  highly  gratifying,  therefore,  to  the  in- 
tending speaker,  to  find  that  concreteness  may  be  a  very 
great  help  to  him  in  memory  also.  The  speaker  who  would 
take  advantage  of  this  aid  to  memory,  which  concreteness 
may  give,  must  remember  the  principle,  that : 

Concreteness  can  aid  memory  only  when  such  a  like- 
ness is  found  between  the  concrete  things  and  the  words 
representing  those  things,  that  the  words  seem  to  be  a 
very  part  of  the  things  which  they  represent. 


The  Value  of  Action  in  Developing  Memory 

In  establishing  an  active  relationship  between  ourselves 
and  all  the  words  we  may  use  in  speaking,  nothing  is  more 
helpful  than  bodily  action.  M.  Ribot,  after  thoroughly  ex- 
amining many  persons  to  learn  what  things  they  can  re- 
member best,  says  (Psychology  of  the  Emotions,  p.  152)  : 
"There  is  a  very  marked  predominance  of  motor  elements. 
.  .  .  The  pleasures  most  frequently  remembered  are  those 


234  MEMORY 

of  skating,  swimming,  the  trot  or  gallop  of  a  horse,  and 
physical  exercises."  He  concludes  (p.  157) :  "The  re- 
vivability  of  an  impression  is  in  direct  ratio  to  the  motor 
elements  included  in  it."  The  noted  French  author, 
Fouillee,  finds  "in  the  feelings  the  basis  of  all  conservative 
memory,  and  the  basis  of  all  feeling  in  motion." 

It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  we  all  memorize  much  more 
successfully  in  good  health  than  in  poor,  and  in  our  more 
vigorous  hours  than  in  hours  of  fatigue.  Is  not  the  cause 
of  this  clear,  in  the  light  of  what  we  have  just  said?  When 
you  are  tired  or  ill,  a  part  of  your  body  has  the  same  re- 
lation to  the  brain  that  your  finger  has  to  your  heart  when 
you  tie  a  string  around  the  finger — it  is  deprived  of  free 
intercourse.  Your  nervous  system  is  so  constituted  that 
your  best  success  in  any  act  in  life  comes  when  your  whole 
being  is  given  to  the  task  of  the  moment.  Do  you  not  re- 
member how  fatigue  has  been  thrown  of!  many  times  when 
you  suddenly  became  greatly  interested  in  the  things  around 
you?  These  experiences  should  make  it  clear  that  being 
in  tune  with  the  things  thought  about  puts  one  in  tune  with 
himself.  What  can  put  you  in  tune  with  anything  thought 
about,  more  effectively,  than  for  you  to  act  as  it  acts,  or  to  act 
upon  it  or  be  acted  upon  by  it,  without  restraint.  Then,  since 
action  not  only  will  give  you  a  better  conception,  and, 
hence,  a  better  memory  of  any  single  thing,  but  will  also 
preserve  your  vigor  and,  hence,  leave  you  in  better  instead 
of  worse  condition  for  the  next  thing  to  be  remembered, 
can  you  afford  to  slight  the*  study  and  practice  of  action 
in  any  of  your  speech-work?  And  since  impulses  to  action 
are  never  stronger  than  when  we  are  trying  to  show  our 
ideas  to  someone  else,  can  you  afford  to  study  any  im- 


PRACTICE  IN  SPEAKING  ON  MEMORY          235 

portant  ideas  without  having  imaginary  hearers  before  you 
to  whom  to  show  your  ideas  by  your  action? 


Practice  in  Speaking  on  Memory 

Make  a  detailed  outline  of  this  chapter,  after  you  have 
thoroughly  studied  its  discussion  of  Memory.  From  this 
outline,  practice  speaking  extempore  until  you  are  prepared 
to  address  the  class  on  any  one,  two,  or  three  divisions,  or 
on  the  whole  chapter.  As  far  as  possible,  use  your  own 
illustrations,  from  things  you  have  observed,  and  make  your 
own  personal  application  of  each  point  discussed. 


Experiments  to  Develop  Memory 

From  what  has  been  said  above  concerning  the  nature 
of  memory  and  concerning  its  basis  and  growth,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  the  best  method  of  developing  memory  is  the 
conception-forming  method.  In  fact,  if  the  student  of 
speaking  will  put  himself  to  the  test,  he  will  find  that: 

It  is  impossible  to  memorize  words  and,  at  the  same 
time,  retain  the  ability  to  think  the  things  for  which  those 
words  stand,  as  they  should  be  thought  in  speaking, 
unless  the  conception-forming  method  is  followed  in 
memorizing. 

Secondly,  he  will  find  that  when  conceptions  have  been 
carefully  built  in  the  manner  outlined  in  the  chapter  on 
Conceptions  in  Literature,  the  words  are  already  memorized 


MEMORY 

though  no  attempt  has  been  made  to  commit  them  to 
memory. 

To  make  sure  that  the  memory  of  words  is  strong  enough 
to  give  the  speaker  the  exact  words  at  exactly  the  moment 
when  he  needs  them  in  speaking,  it  is,  of  course,  necessary 
that  those  very  words  be  a  part  of  the  conceptions  formed. 
That  is,  it  is  necessary  that  the  speaker  form  the  exact 
conceptions  which  those  particular  words  require,  while 
using  those  words.  It  is  necessary  also,  as  we  have  shown 
in  the  discussion  of  memory,  that  you  build  these  concep- 
tions for  an  audience,  or  for  an  imaginary  friend  beside 
you,  and  that  you  use  the  voice  and  the  action  most  helpful 
to  show  to  the  listener  the  things  conceived.  It  is  necessary 
that  you  do  these  things  while  you  build  the  conceptions  of 
the  exact  words  you  wish  to  use,  and  that  you  repeat  these 
acts  before  your  imaginary  audience  every  time  you  re- 
build your  conceptions. 

To  begin  the  experiments  to  develop  memory,  turn  again 
to  the  selections  you  used  in  building  conceptions  for  liter- 
ature. If  you  did  not  memorize  those  selections,  do  not  do 
so  now  until  you  have  carefully  rebuilt  the  conceptions  in 
the  manner  we  have  just  outlined.  Repeat  this  experiment 
a  few  times,  and  you  will  find  that  the  words  are  memorized 
and  that  they  are  memorized  without  your  making  a  direct 
attempt  to  commit  them  to  memory. 

Perform  the  same  experiment  with  various  short  selec- 
tions from  literature  and  also  with  short,  original  talks. 

The  greatest  help  we  have  ever  found  for  students,  in 
these  experiments  in  memory,  is  this  little  paraphrase  of 
a  scriptural  thought: 

He  that  saveth  his  words  shall  lose  them;  but  he  that 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  MEMORY          237 

loseth  his  words  for  the  sake  of  showing  to  others  the 
things  spoken  of,  shall  save  his  words  and  his  powers  of 
speaking  also. 

Many  scores  of  times  the  present  writer  has  seen 
students  forget  because  they  were  trying  desperately  to 
think  what  words  ought  to  come  next.  At  such  times,  the 
author  has  never  found  an  instance  when  (provided  the 
speaker  had  memorized  his  speech  by  the  conception 
method),  if  the  speaker  would  cease  to  search  for  words 
and  would  turn  his  mind,  unreservedly,  to  rebuild  (in 
silence),  for  the  listener,  the  last  conception  he  spoke  be- 
fore he  forgot,  he  would  not  instantly  remember  the  words 
for  which  he  had  been  vainly  searching. 


CHAPTER  XII 

BODILY  ACTION  AND  ITS  CAUSES 
The  World's  Estimate  of  Action 

THE  keen  observer  has  probably  satisfied  himself  that 
the  old  adage  is  true,  "action  speaks  louder  than  words," 
and  is  willing  to  let  action  speak  for  itself.  There  are  many 
persons,  however,  who  regard  action  as  a  detriment  to 
thinking,  and  to  effective  speaking.  Have  you  not  heard 
such  comments  as  these:  "Oh,  yes,  he  had  a  pretty  good 
speech,  but  he  spoiled  it  by  so  much  action";  "He  is  an 
actor,  not  a  thinker";  "I  knew  when  I  first  saw  him  that 
I  didn't  care  to  hear  him,  he  moved  around  too  much — 
much  action,  little  thinking,"  etc.?  The  author  has  heard 
such  criticisms  and  has  heard  them  so  often  and  from  men 
of  such  prominence,  that  he  is  not  willing  to  pass  them  by. 

As  students  of  speaking  we  are  trying  to  learn  to  speak  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  reach  all  sorts  of  men.  If  we  decide 
to  use  action  in  our  speaking,  we  do  so  because  we  feel  that 
it  will  make  us  more  effective  speakers.  If  there  are  men, 
thinking  men,  upon  whom  speaking  seems  to  have  less 
effect  because  of  action,  we  must  find  out  why  this  is.  Is 
it  because  any  action  is  used,  or  because  wrong  kinds  of 
action  are  sometimes  employed?  If  it  is  the  fault  of  action 

238 


THE  WORLD  S  ESTIMATE  OF  ACTION  239 

itself,  then  there  is  but  one  thing  to  be  done.  We  must 
find  out,  if  we  can,  what  classes  of  hearers  frown  upon 
action.  We  must  learn  to  speak  with  action,  and  to  speak 
without  action;  and  when  addressing  an  audience  in  which 
those  we  most  desire  to  influence  are  of  the  sort  who  dislike 
action,  we  must  use  little  or  no  action.  But  if  the  fault  lies 
in  the  kind  of  action  that  is  used  when  action  seems  to 
make  speech  less  effective,  then  we  must  pursue  a  different 
course.  I.  We  must  discover  what  kinds  of  action  they 
are  that  offend  our  sensitive  friends.  2.  We  must  find  the 
causes  of  these  bad  kinds  of  action.  3.  We  must  remove 
these  causes. 

Let  us  consider  the  first  problem.  Is  action,  even  when 
we  might  call  it  faultless  action,  a  bad  thing  in  its  effect 
on  certain  members  of  our  audiences  ?  In  other  words,  are 
some  men  so  constituted  that  they  get  the  message  of  the 
speaker  better  without  action  than  with  it?  This  is  a  diffi- 
cult question  to  answer.  Even  if  we  could  get  the  testi- 
mony of  large  numbers  of  men  who  think  they  prefer  speech 
without  action,  would  this  prove  that  these  men  are  actually 
so  constituted?  We  believe  not.  These  men  may  have  be- 
come prejudiced  against  all  action  because  they  have  paid 
attention  to  action  only  when  it  was  so  bad  that  it  was 
noticeable  for  its  faults.  They  may  have  become  so  inter- 
ested in  what  was  said  by  many  a  speaker  who  pleased  them, 
that  they  were  wholly  unconscious  of  the  part  his  action 
played  in  making  his  speech  strong  and  effective.  To  an- 
swer this  question  satisfactorily,  it  would  be  necessary  to 
make  a  study  of  the  individuals  who  seem  to  dislike  action. 
It  would  be  necessary  to  study  many  of  them,  and  under 
varying  conditions,  so  as  to  discover  the  effects  that  differ- 


240  BODILY  ACTION  AND  ITS  CAUSES 

ent  speakers  have  upon  them  when  much  action  is  employed, 
and  also  when  little  action  is  used. 

For  a  number  of  years,  we  have  made  such  a  study  when- 
ever opportunity  permitted.  We  have  made  it  a  point  to 
study  men  of  different  temperaments,  and  also  men  of 
different  occupations  and  tastes.  The  results  of  these  ob- 
servations have  been  virtually  the  same.  Every  man 
studied,  who  claims  that  he  dislikes  action  in  speech,  when 
observed  listening  to  a  speech  that  appeals  to  him,  seems  to 
forget  all  his  prejudice  against  action.  We  have  seen  some 
of  these  men  actually  "carried  away"  by  the  action  of  a 
speaker,  and  yet  not  know  that  the  speaker  was  using  action. 
We  have  seen  them  accept  action,  and  without  criticism, 
(merely  because  they  were  so  pleased  with  what  the  speaker 
was  saying)  when  the  action  was  actually  violent.  When 
such  men  commend  a  speaker  for  not  using  action,  we 
have  observed  that  it  is  not  the  .absence  of  action  that  makes 
the  speech  seem  good  to  them.  We  have  proved  this  many 
times  in  this  manner:  We  have  gone  with  these  same 
men  to  hear  other  speakers  who  did  use  action  and  use 
it  freely,  and  whenever  the  message  itself  was  pleasing  to 
these  men,  they  received  it  even  more  enthusiastically  than 
they  did  the  speeches  of  those  speakers  whom  they  had 
praised  for  not  using  action.  We  have  gone  with  these 
men  to  hear  speakers  whom  they  criticised  for  using  action, 
and,  in  every  case,  the  action  was  bad  in  kind.  The  speaker 
either  had  little  to  say  and  was  trying  to  substitute  action 
for  thought,  or  else  his  action  was  artificial,  not  a  genuine 
reinforcement  of  the  speaker's  message. 

We  have  given  this  very  brief  statement  of  the  tests 
which  we  have  made  during  a  number  of  years ;  but  we 


THE  CAUSES  OF  BODILY  ACTION  24! 

believe  the  student  of  speaking  will  accept  the  results  of 
these  tests  as  reasonable  proof  of  several  things:  first,  that 
no  speech  is  really  better  for  the  lack  of  action;  secondly, 
that  the  same  speech  which  was  accepted  without  action, 
would  probably  have  been  accepted  even  more  enthusias- 
tically if  the  speaker's  body,  as  well  as  his  voice,  had  told 
his  message;  thirdly,  that  those  persons  who  think  they  do 
not  like  action  in  speaking,  think  so  because  they  have 
come  to  dislike  certain  kinds  of  action  (bad  in  kind),  and 
to  think  of  all  action  as  being  like  the  action  they  dislike. 
Then,  since  action  is  offensive  only  when  it  is  the  wrong 
kind  of  action,  our  course  is  clear.  We  must  find  out  what 
things  produce  the  wrong  kinds  of  action,  and  must  learn 
to  avoid  those  things.  Secondly,  we  must  find  and  de- 
velop those  things  which  produce  good  action.  This  brings 
before  us  the  subject: 


The  Causes  of  Bodily  Action 

What  causes  our  bodies  to  move?  Important  as  this 
question  is,  psychologists  "have  given  it  little  attention. 
Because  of  this  fact  and  because  of  the  importance  of 
action,  the  present  writer  has  endeavored  to  discover  the 
cause  of  all  the  forms  of  action  which  add  to  the  effective- 
ness of  speech.  Practically  all  the  kinds  of  action  which 
speakers  employ  have  been  studied  by  the  author  under 
as  many  conditions  as  possible,  special  note  having  been 
taken  of  the  temperaments  of  the  speakers.  These  investi- 
gations seem  to  prove  that  every  spontaneous  action  we 
make,  if,  at  the  same  time,  intelligent,  is  caused  by  a  con- 


242  BODILY  ACTION  AND  ITS  CAUSES 

ception  which  the  mind  holds  of  the  thing  toward  which 
we  act.  We  recognize  in  the  thing  toward  which  we  act, 
something  we  have  known  before,  something  we  have  come  to 
like  or  to  dislike — something  that  we  feel  will  help  or  hinder 
us.  Every  intelligent,  spontaneous  movement  we  make,  is 
(fundamentally)  an  effort  of  the  body  to  get  again,  from  the 
thing  toward  which  we  act,  that  something  ivhich  the  mind 
recognizes  as  having  been  a  former  help  or  pleasure ;  or  it  is 
an  effort  of  the  body  to  avoid,  in  the  thing  toward  which 
we  act,  that  other  something  which  the  mind  recognises 
as  a  former  displeasure  or  hindrance. 

The  conclusion  is  obvious  that  if  we  wish  our  actions, 
when  speaking,  to  be  both  spontaneous  and  intelligent,  as 
they  must  be  to  prove  truly  effective,  we  must  move  only 
when  we  get  so  clear  a  conception  of  something,  in  the 
object  toward  which  we  move,  that  will  help  or  hinder  us, 
that  we  move  because  of  that  conception. 


Attitude  and  Bodily  Action 

There  are  many  things  which  check  the  bodily  action  even 
when  we  have  a  strong  conception  that  the  thing  thought 
about  may  harm  us,  or  help  us.  Who  has  not  seen  some 
person  too  badly  scared  to  move,  or  too  angry;  or  who 
has  not  been,  perhaps,  in  that  condition  himself  ?  Who  has 
not  seen  someone  too  jealous  to  move,  or  too  full  of 
hatred,  or  of  envy?  Many  a  young  man  can  tell  (if  he 
would)  of  the  time  when  even  love  made  him  unable  to 
move,  though  he  had  a  strong  enough  conception  of  the 
ability  of  the  fair  creature  before  him,  to  help  him  more 


ATTITUDE  AND  BODILY  ACTION  243 

than  all  the  rest  of  the  world  could  do.  The  very  esteem 
which  caused  him  to  love  so  fondly,  bred  a  respect  that 
made  him  incapable  of  embracing  the  object  of  his  devo- 
tion. It  is  very  evident  that  there  are  times  when  neither 
the  conception  of  help  nor  of  hindrance,  in  the  thing 
thought  about,  is  sufficient  to  cause  bodily  action,  if,  at  such 
times,  we  are  ruled  by  any  one  of  the  strong  emotions. 

Have  we,  then,  but  to  avoid  the  strong  feelings?  If  we 
suppress  all  strong  emotion;  if  we  content  ourselves  with 
recognizing,  in  the  thing  thought  about,  the  ability  to  help 
or  hinder  us,  will  the  needed  bodily  action  follow?  The 
question  almost  answers  itself.  It  seems  ridiculous  to  be- 
lieve that  the  absence  of  feeling  will  cause  the  body  to  move 
more  spontaneously  and  more  freely  than  will  the  presence 
of  feeling.  Does  the  indifferent  man  have  more  movement 
than  the  man  of  feeling?  The  doubting  or  negative  man, 
more  than  the  man  of  positive  feeling?  Are  our  muscles 
set  in  motion  when  we  coldly  calculate  or  analyze  the 
thing  before  us? 

Someone  retorts:  "But  are  these  fair  questions?  Is  it 
possible  for  one  to  be  indifferent  or  doubting  or  calculating 
or  analytical  when  one  has  a  clear  and  strong  conception 
of  the  ability  of  the  thing  thought  of,  to  help  or  to  harm 
him?  We  have  observed  hundreds  of  such  cases;  and  we 
have  found  that  certain  kinds  of  people  almost  always  avoid 
strong  feeling  at  such  times,  also  that  the  more  emotional 
natures  oftentimes  do  the  same,  and  that,  of  whatever 
nature  the  person  may  be,  whether  emotional  or  unemo- 
tional, it  is  possible  for  him  to  recognize,  in  the  thing  con- 
templated, an  ability  to  help  or  to  hinder  him,  and  yet  not 
be  moved  tc  bodily  action. 


244  BODILY  ACTION  AND  ITS  CAUSES 

Then,  since  we  have  found  that  whenever  we  are  moved 
to  intelligent  bodily  action,  that  action  is  caused  by  our 
recognizing  in  the  thing  toward  which  we  react,  something 
that  will  help  us  or  hinder  us;  and,  since  it  is  always  pos- 
sible for  us  to  recognize  such  a  thing  and  yet  not  be  moved 
by  it  to  intelligent  bodily  action,  we  must  find  out  what 
other  things  function  as  causes  of  action. 

Examine  any  one  of  the  instances  when  you  are  moved 
to  intelligent,  purposeful  action,  and  you  will  find  that 
the  thing  which  really  started  your  action,  was  an  active 
attitude.  Before  we  move,  we  not  only  have  a  clear  con- 
ception of  something,  in  the  object  toward  which  we  move, 
that  we  wish  to  get  or  desire  to  avoid;  we  also  assume 
toward  that  thing  an  active  attitude.  What  is  an  attitude? 
We  can  most  clearly  see  its  nature  if  we  observe  the  process 
by  which  an  attitude  is  produced.  A  man  stands  in  front 
of  a  lion's  cage.  To  his  horror  he  discovers  that  the  cage- 
door  has  been  left  unlocked  and  that  the  lion  is  coming  out 
of  the  cage  directly  toward  him.  For  a  moment  dread 
overpowers  him  and  he  cannot  move.  Now  he  catches 
sight  of  an  ax  lying  a  few  feet  frorr  him.  He  conceives 
the  great  service  the  ax  may  render  him ;  he  conceives  also 
how  he  may  get  the  ax,  and  determines  to  do  so.  He  now 
has  an  active  attitude.  When  we  recognize  something  that 
can  affect  us,  when  we  also  recognize  the  process  by  which 
we  may  cope  with  that  thing,  and  when  we  become  filled 
with  the  desire  and  the  determination  to  cope  with  that 
thing,  we  then  assume  toward  that  thing  an  intelligent, 
active  attitude.  This  attitude  we  might  call  the  birth  of 
intelligent  bodily  action.  In  the  attitude,  action  begins; 
and  from  the  simple  attitude  all  forms  of  action  spring. 


ATTITUDE  AND  BODILY  ACTION  245 

Let  the  student  not  forget,  however,  that  before  he  can 
have  this  intelligent,  active  attitude  in  which  all  action 
begins,  he  must  first  have  both  the  primary  and  the  sec- 
ondary cause  of  attitude  as  well  as  of  action.  He  must 
clearly  recognize  something  that  can  affect  him  and  must 
clearly  realize  what  it  is  he  intends  to  do  with  respect  to 
that  thing. 

The  student  of  speech  has  heard  this  term,  attitude, 
used  more  often  with  reference  to  certain  positions  which 
the  body  assumes,  than  he  has  with  reference  to  a  certain 
state  or  activity  of  mind.  What  is  the  relation  between 
an  attitude  of  mind  and  an  attitude  of  body?  We  have 
just  noted  the  causes  which  produce  an  attitude  in  the  mind. 
If  we  can  discover  the  causes  which  produce  an  attitude  of 
the  body,  we  shall  then  see  how  alike  and  how  unlike  these 
two  things  are.  What  causes  the  body  to  get  into  such 
positions  as  are  called  attitudes?  Before  we  can  answer 
this  question,  it  is  necessary  that  we  get  a  clear  idea  of 
what  is  meant  when  one  speaks  of  an  attitude  of  the  body. 
We  hear  someone  say:  "He  struck  an  attitude  and  pro- 
ceeded to  display  his  wares";  "He  assumed  an  attitude  of 
defiance";  "He  stood  in  an  attitude  of  conscious  supe- 
riority"; "He  Pepped  out  in  an  attitude  of  eager  ex- 
pectancy," etc.  Attitude  is  evidently  a  position  of  unusual 
character  or  vigor.  For  years  we  have  watched  closely 
the  causes  which  seem  to  produce  all  kinds  of  attitudes, 
conscious  and  unconscious.  The  moving  cause  has  always 
been  a  desire  to  get  nearer  to  or  farther  away  from  the 
thing  contemplated. 

The  only  apparent  exceptions  to  this  law,  are  those  cases 
where  the  person  observed  assumes  one  of  the  "negative" 


246  BODILY  ACTION  AND  ITS  CAUSES 

attitudes,  that  is,  an  attitude  of  indifference,  listlessness, 
etc.  A  little  closer  study  reveals  the  fact  that  even  these 
are  not  exceptions  to  the  rule.  For  example,  here  is  a 
man  who  has  an  indifferent  attitude.  When  he  exhibits 
that  attitude,  what  is  he  contemplating?  He  is  contem- 
plating the  task  of  coping  with  the  thing  thought  of.  He 
has  decided  not  to  perform  that  task,  which  means  that  he 
is  withdrawing  from  that  task.  He  does  not  wish  to  put 
forth  energy  enough  to  make  an  active  withdrawal,  but  it 
is  a  withdrawal,  nevertheless.  The  same  is  true  of  all 
other  "negative"  attitudes.  Whatever  attitude  the  body 
may  assume,  it  does  so  because  of  a  desire  to  get  nearer 
to  or  farther  away  from  the  thing  toward  which  the  attitude 
is  taken.  One  assumes  a  bodily  attitude  only  when  he  has 
a  mental  attitude;  the  bodily  attitude  is  merely  the 
physical  evidence  of  a  mental  attitude. 


General  Classes  of  Bodily  Action  and  Their  Relation  to 
the  Attitude 

We  made  the  statement  above,  that  all  forms  of  action 
are  only  the  outgrowth  of  the  simple  attitude.  The  truth 
of  his  statement  may  be  more  clear  and  its  value  to  the 
speaker  more  apparent,  if  we  examine  the  various  forms 
of  action  which  the  speaker  employs.  Most  of  the  text- 
books on  this  subject  divide  all  actions  which  the  speaker 
uses,  into  three  general  classes :  Attitudes,  Bodily  Move- 
ments, and  Gestures.  The  first  class,  Attitudes,  we  need 
not  treat  further.  By  Bodily  Movements  are  meant  the 
movements  of  the  entire  body  from  one  piosition  or  attitude 


GENERAL  CLASSES  OF  BODILY  ACTION          247 

to  another.  It  is  apparent  that  whenever  a  speaker  moves, 
with  worthy  purpose,  from  one  attitude  to  another,  he 
moves  either  to  get  nearer  to  or  farther  away  from  the 
thing  about  which,  at  the  moment,  he  is  speaking.  If  this 
is  not  clear,  make  the  test  and  it  will  soon  become  clear. 

When  we  examine  the  Gestures,  do  we  find  the  same  law  ? 
Let  us  first  determine  what  is  meant  by  Gestures,  then  let 
us  investigate  their  cause.  If  there  are  only  three  general 
classes  of  action,  Attitudes,  Bodily  Movements,  and  Ges- 
tures, and  if  the  only  movements  included  in  the  other  two 
classes,  Attitudes  and  Bodily  Movements,  are  the  move- 
ments of  the  entire  body  from  one  attitude  to  another,  then 
Gestures  must  include  all  the  remaining  movements.  In 
other  words,  Gestures  are  the  movements  of  certain  parts 
of  the  body.  This  definition  makes  the  term  gesture  cover 
all  the  movements  of  the  hands,  arms,  and  shoulders,  those 
of  the  neck  and  head,  and  also  the  movements  of  the  face 
commonly  called  "facial  expression." 

Are  all  of  these  the  outgrowth  of  the  simple  attitude? 
Let  us  first  examine  those  movements  which  are  commonly 
referred  to  when  people  speak  of  "gestures,"  namely,  the 
movements  of  the  hands  and  arms.  If  we  observe  ges- 
tures which  are  made  by  one  person  talking  to  another, 
ive  find  that  these  are  of  three  classes.  Let  us  see  what 
these  classes  are. 

Here  is  a  man  who,  while  speaking,  makes  gestures  as 
if  he  were  actually  handling  things.  Now  he  puts  forth 
his  fingers  gently  as  if  to  touch  something  and  find  how 
it  feels.  Now  he  moves  his  hands  as  if  he  were  tracing 
the  outline  of  something  to  discover  its  exact  shape.  Now 
he  seems  to  press  his  hands  against  something  as  if  to 


248  BODILY  ACTION  AND  ITS  CAUSES 

discover  how  hard  it  is,  how  much  resistance  it  offers. 
Now  he  seems  to  move  his  hands  as  if  to  push  something 
away  from  him,  and  now,  as  if  to  draw  something  to  him. 
Now  he  strikes  with  his  clenched  hand  as  if  to  break  or 
crush  something.  All  these  gestures,  and  many  others 
like  them,  fall  under  one  class.  They  arise  from  one  com- 
mon cause,  the  desire  of  the  speaker  to  get  into  closer  touch 
with  the  thing  spoken  of  or  to  put  that  thing  away  from 
him.  Watch  the  speaker  further  and  you  will  see  other 
movements  of  his  hands  and  arms.  Now  he  steps  toward 
the  listener  and  unfolds  his  hand  toward  him  as  if  to  give 
a  handful  of  something;  now  he  extends  his  hand  as  if 
he  expected  the  listener  to  give  him  something.  Now  he 
pushes  the  palm  of  his  hand  out  as  if  to  push  the  listener 
away  from  him;  now  the  same  palm  seems  to  extend  a 
caress  to  the  listener.  Clearly,  all  such  movements  of  the 
hands  and  arms,  and  all  others  like  them,  are  of  a  differ- 
ent class  from  the  gestures  considered  above.  These  ges- 
tures evidently  arise  from  a  desire  in  the  speaker  to  get 
nearer  to  or  farther  away  from  the  person  or  persons  to 
whom  he  speaks.  Watch  again  and  you  will  see  the  speaker 
making  gestures  of  still  another  kind.  Now  the  forefinger 
of  the  speaker  comes  up  before  the  listener  as  if  to  catch 
his  undivided  attention,  and  then  moves  out  as  if  to  lead 
the  eye  and  mind  of  the  listener  to  some  definite  spot  which 
it  points  out.  Now  the  speaker's  arm  makes  a  wide,  sweep- 
ing movement  to  the  side  as  if  to  unfold  and  lay  there 
a  whole  armful  of  things  for  the  listener  to  inspect.  Now 
the  speaker  glances  to  one  side  and  then  puts  forth  his 
hand  as  if  to  keep  the  listener  back  from  the  thing  he  sees. 
Clearly,  all  these  gestures,  and  all  similar  ones,  form  a 


GENERAL  CLASSES  OF  BODILY  ACTION        249 

third  class,  different  from  both  the  other  two  classes  of 
hand  gestures.  It  is  clear  also  that  such  gestures  as  these 
arise  from  a  desire  in  the  speaker  to  get  the  listener  nearer 
to  or  farther  away  from  the  thing  contemplated. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  point  out  the  fact  that  in  dis- 
covering the  causes  which  divide  the  hand-gestures  into 
three  classes,  we  have,  at  the  same  time,  demonstrated  that 
all  the  gestures  of  the  hand  are  the  direct  outgrowth  of 
the  simple  attitude. 

When  we  examine  the  "gestures"  of  the  head,  shoulders, 
and  face,  we  find  it  easy  to  prove  that  the  same  law  holds 
true.  In  fact,  many  of  the  motions  of  the  shoulders,  head, 
and  face  are  so  closely  connected  with  a  mental  attitude, 
that  they  seem  a  part  of  the  attitude  rather  than  an  out- 
growth of  it.  For  example,  when  we  turn  the  "cold 
shoulder,"  what  is  it  but  striking  an  attitude  of  scorning 
or  ignoring?  When  we  toss  the  head,  is  not  that  very 
toss  the  principal  part  of  the  attitude  of  superiority,  inde- 
pendence, etc?  When  we  shrug  the  shoulders,  it  is  clearly 
the  outgrowth  of  the  desire  to  rid  ourselves  of  something. 
Even  the  "nod,"  and  the  "shake"  of  the  head,  are  the  direct 
outgrowth  of  a  tendency  to  yield  to  or  to  repel  the  thing 
contemplated.  Who  can  doubt  that  the  rising  of  the  corners 
of  the  mouth,  is  caused  by  approval  of  the  thing  con- 
templated? Approval  means  a  desire  to  get  into  closer 
relationship  with  the  thing  contemplated.  Who  can  doubt 
that  the  drawing  down  of  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  is  caused 
by  a  disapproval,  or  a  desire  to  get  rid  of  the  thing  thought 
about?  There  is  abundant  evidence  that  all  intelligent 
actions  of  the  shoulders,  head  and  face,  are  the  direct  out- 
growth of  an  attitude. 


250  BODILY  ACTION  AND  ITS  CAUSES 

We  have  now  briefly  examined  all  classes  of  intelligent 
bodily  action.  This  examination  establishes  the  truth  of 
the  law  stated  above :  Every  intelligent,  legitimate  action 
which  the  speaker  makes  arises  in  a  simple  attitude  of 
the  speaker's  mind,  and  this  attitude,  in  turn,  is  caused 
by  the  speaker's  recognizing,  in  the  thing  contemplated, 
something  which  will  help  or  hinder  the  message  he  is 
presenting. 


Practical   Speaking  on  Bodily  Action  and  Its   Causes 

To  fix  in  mind  the  causes  of  action  and  to  employ  this 
knowledge  in  your  immediate  development  in  speaking,  put 
what  you  have  learned  concerning  action,  to  use  in  prac- 
tical speaking.  Make  a  complete  outline  of  this  chapter, 
after  you  have  thoroughly  studied  it;  and,  from  this  out- 
line, discuss  each  division  of  the  chapter  separately,  and 
then  the  chapter  as  a  whole,  until  you  are  prepared  to  do 
this  before  the  class.  Make  the  discussion  as  original  as 
possible,  using  illustrations  from  your  own  experience,  and 
making  an  application  of  each  point,  to  speech- work  as  you 
are  pursuing  it  for  your  own  development. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
UNDESIRABLE  AND  DESIRABLE  ACTION 

Now  that  we  have  ascertained  the  causes  of  action  in 
general,  we  should  be  able  to  discover  the  causes  of  unde- 
sirable action.  Having  done  so,  we  should  also  be  able 
to  remove  these  causes,  and  thus,  to  avoid,  in  our  speak- 
ing, all  undesirable  action.  Let  us,  therefore,  first  turn  our 
attention  to  the 

Kinds  of  Undesirable  Action 

Any  action  that  is  bad  is  bad  because  it  draws  the  at- 
tention of  the  audience  to  the  action  itself,  and  away  from 
the  message  which  the  speaker  is  presenting. 

The  action  may  be  too  awkward,  or  it  may  even  be  too 
graceful.  There  may  be  too  much  action,  or  too  little. 
The  action  may  call  attention  to  itself  because  it  is  too  well 
controlled  or  because  it  is  not  well  enough  controlled.  What- 
ever the  fault  in  a  speaker's  action,  that  fault  belongs  to 
one  of  the  few  fundamental  classes  of  undesirable  action. 
These  classes  are:  i.  Action  that  is  predetermined,  unless 
it  be  re-created  at  the  moment  of  its  presentation;  2.  Ac- 
tion that  is  made  for  sel f -display ;  3.  Action  that  merely 
relieves  nervous  pressure — merely  follows  an  impulse  to 
move — but  does  not  connect  the  speaker  more  closely  with 

251 


252        UNDESIRABLE  AND  DESIRABLE  ACTION 

the  object  thought  of  or  with  the  audience  addressed;  4. 
Action  that  breeds  self-consciousness;  5.  Action  that  is 
awkward. 


I.  Action  That  Is  Predetermined 

A  girl  has  been  trained  to  make  certain  gestures  at  cer- 
tain places.  Now  she  stands  before  an  audience.  See  how 
blank  her  face  is!  And,  horrors!  What  has  happened  to 
her  now?  Oh,  she  has  forgotten  one  of  her  gestures  and 
has  gone  back  to  "put  it  in."  The  audience  is  laughing  at 
her  instead  of  listening  to  her  speech. 

Similar  results  are  likely  to  mar  our  own  efforts  when- 
ever we  attempt  to  pre-arrange  our  action.  We  must  either 
abandon  such  a  practice,  or  else  we  must  find  how  to  pre- 
vent such  action  from  becoming  so  bad. 

When  we  look  into  this  process  of  pre-arranging  action, 
we  find  that  the  speaker's  mind  has  acted  after  this 
fashion.  As  soon  as  the  speaker  began  to  feel  that  he  had 
his  gestures  "prepared,"  he  deemed  himself  ready  to  make 
them,  regardless  of  the  process  of  mind  which  should  have 
been  producing  those  gestures.  The  mind  at  once  became, 
as  it  were,  independent.  It  was  then  as  if  the  mind  said 
to  the  speaker:  "Oh,  you  think  you  can  do  this  alone,  do 
you  ?  Very  well !  Go  on  and  do  it."  And  right  there  the 
mind's  action  ceased,  at  least  so  far  as  creating  the  speaker's 
action  was  concerned.  From  that  time  on,  the  speaker's 
body  acted  as  a  machine  might  act  when  wound  up  and 
set  going.  In  this  fact  lies  the  reason  why  such  action 
is  bad.  When  a  person  converses  in  our  presence,  and  uses 


ACTION  THAT  IS  PREDETERMINED  253 

bodily  action  effectively,  we  are  accustomed  to  seeing  the 
action  impart  to  the  mind  of  the  speaker  a  greater  vigor  and 
a  certain  magnetism.  We  see  his  face  light  up  and  we  feel 
that  he  has  grown  "fuller  of  the  truth."  What  effect, 
then,  does  it  have  on  us  to  see  a  speaker  employ  action 
in  the  mechanical  manner  described  above?  We  soon  feel 
that  the  speaker  has  no  real  message  to  present.  Such  ac- 
tion is  bad  for  two  distinct  reasons:  (i)  It  does  not  help 
the  speaker  himself,  as  action  can  and  should  do;  and  (2) 
it  destroys  our  respect  for  and  confidence  in  the  speaker. 

Are  we  to  decide,  then,  that  we  should  never  attempt  to 
prepare  ourselves  in  the  action  of  a  speech  ?  Must  we  wait 
until  we  are  in  the  presence  of  the  audience,  and  trust  to 
the  inspiration  of  the  moment  to  give  us  the  action  we  may 
need?  Such  a  decision  would  be  fatal  to  the  effectiveness 
of  most  beginners,  and  even  to  many  speakers  of  more  ex- 
perience. In  almost  all  dramatic  speech,  for  instance,  it  is 
practically  necessary  to  "work  out"  the  action  before  the 
time  for  presentation.  While  seldom  so  necessary  as  in 
dramatic  speaking,  it  is  often  very  valuable  to  the  speaker 
to  make  definite  preparation  in  action,  for  any  form  of 
speech  he  may  have  to  present. 

If  he  wishes  to  make  natural  and  effective  the  action  he 
has  prepared  before  hand,  the  one  thing  absolutely  neces- 
sary, is  that  the  speaker  compel  himself  to  re-create 
every  action  he  makes  every  time  he  makes  it. 

By  this  we  mean  that  the  speaker  must  never  allow 
himself  to  make  a  gesture  or  a  movement  without 
first  getting  a  clear  conception  of  what  he  is  to  do  and 
why  he  is  to  do  it.  He  must  re-create  the  action  he  has 
practiced  by  discovering  again  (actually  or  in  imagination) 


254       UNDESIRABLE  AND  DESIRABLE  ACTION 

the  thing  that  first  caused  the  action,  the  thing  upon  which 
or  toward  which  he  had  an  impulse  to  act.  More  than  this, 
he  must  again  clearly  conceive  just  what  it  is  he  wishes  to 
do  with  this  thing;  and  must  again  assume  so  strong  and 
so  definite  an  attitude  toward  that  thing,  that  his  action  is 
the  immediate  outgrowth  of  that  attitude. 

II.  Action  Made  for  Self-display 

The  second  class  of  undesirable  action  is  the  action  that 
is  bad  because  it  is  made  for  self -display.  It  seems  so  self- 
evident  that  such  action  is  bad,  that  we  are  apt  to  exclaim 
"Who  would  be  so  vain  as  to  stand  before  an  audience 
and  make  a  deliberate  display  of  his  action !"  But  alas,  how 
few  speakers  there  are  free  from  this  fault.  As  a  teacher,  the 
author,  during  many  years,  has  carefully  watched  the  action 
of  many  classes  of  students  of  speech.  These  observations 
have  led  to  the  conclusion  that  there  is  but  one  class  of 
students  who  are  not,  at  some  time,  guilty  of  this  sin.  Those 
are  the  students  whose  motions  are  so  careless  that  their 
action  is,  perhaps,  worse  than  it  would  be  if  it  were  made 
for  display. 

The  type  of  young  speakers  who  most  easily  fall  victim 
to  this  temptation  to  self-display  is  the  type  commonly 
known  as  the  "Delsarte"  girls.  They  are  those  fortunate 
(or  unfortunate)  young  persons  who  know  they  are  pretty 
or  have  been  told  they  are  graceful  (or  both)  ;  and  who 
aspire  to  win  some  personal  esteem  from  their  audience  by 
a  display  of  their  graceful  and  beautiful  movements.  We 
are  not  teaching  moral  philosophy  here,  else  we  should 
pause  to  warn  such  young  persons  that  they  are  likely  to 


ACTION  MADE  FOR  SELF-DISPLAY  255 

be  accused  of  flirting  with  their  audience.  They  have  so 
far  forgotten  that  their  duty  before  an  audience  is  to  pre- 
sent a  message,  that  they  are  bidding  for  personal  esteem 
of  their  bodily  charms. 

But  now  comes  before  us  a  very  different  type.  Here 
is  a  boy  who  has  no  idea  that  he  is  handsome,  and  has  never 
been  told  that  he  is  graceful.  His  one  claim  is  that  he  is 
strong.  He  makes  all  manner  of  fun  of  those  persons  who 
try  to  make  pretty  or  graceful  gestures.  Who  would  expect 
to  find  him  guilty  of  using  action  for  self-display?  Watch 
him.  See  how  his  every  attitude  betrays  the  fact  that  he 
counts  on  that  strength  of  his  to  carry  him  through !  How 
his  every  movement  betrays  pride  in  his  strength  as  plainly 
as  the  "Delsarte"  girl  betrayed  her  vanity.  See  how  he  mars 
the  delicate  and  tender  lines  of  his  speech  by  striking  them 
(in  attitude  or  movement  or  gesture,  or  in  all  these)  as 
he  might  strike  the  line  in  a  foot-ball  game!  We  cannot 
analyze  his  action  without  realizing  that  he  is  as  guilty  of 
self-display  at  the  expense  of  the  message,  as  that  girl 
was  whose  display  of  "gracefulness"  he  loves  to  ridicule. 

Between  these  two  extremely  different  types  may  be  found 
all  the  other  types  of  persons  who  attempt  to  speak,  and 
practically  every  one  of  them  is  a  victim  of  this  fault  at 
certain  times. 

What  causes  speakers  and  readers  to  commit  this  almost 
unpardonable  sin  of  resorting  to  action  for  self -display? 
A  careful  study  of  the  various  types  of  speakers,  reveals 
the  fact  that  the  fundamental  cause  is  the  same  in  all  types, 
namely,  a  failure  to  get  a  clear  conception  of  the  purpose 
of  a  speech.  The  speaker's  purpose  before  an  audience 
should  always  be,  to  present  a  message  and  to  make  that 


256        UNDESIRABLE  AND  DESIRABLE  ACTION 

message  so  clear  that  the  audience  will  see  it,  and  not  the 
speaker.  One  cannot  have  desirable  action  in  his  speaking, 
if  he  tries  to  substitute  mere  action  for  the  truth  he  should 
be  presenting.  The  speaker's  mind  should  be  engaged,  at 
all  times,  in  an  earnest  effort  to  get  the  clearest  view  of 
the  things  about  which  he  is  speaking,  and  the  clearest  view 
of  his  purpose  in  presenting  those  things. 

His  action  should  always  be  the  immediate  outgrowth 
of  a  fresh  conception  of  the  help  or  hindrance  which  each 
of  the  things  spoken  of,  offers  in  accomplishing  that 
purpose. 

If  a  speaker  obeys  this  law,  though  he  may  have  formed 
the  bad  habit  of  using  action  for  self -display,  he  will  soon 
be  able  to  conquer  the  habit. 

III.  Action  That  Is   Only  Impulsive 

The  third  kind  of  undesirable  action,  named  above,  is 
the  action  that  merely  relieves  nervous  pressure — merely 
follows  an  impulse  to  move — but  does  not  connect  the 
speaker  more  closely  with  the  thing  discussed  or  with  the 
audience  addressed.  This  is,  perhaps,  the  most  universal 
fault  in  action.  Watch  any  speaker  or  reader  who  is  alive 
with  his  subject,  and  you  are  almost  sure  to  see  illustra- 
tions of  this  worse-than-wasted  energy.  It  is  thrice-wasted 
energy,  for  it  spends  the  speaker's  power  without  bringing 
any  worthy  results,  it  distracts  the  attention  of  the  audi- 
ence from  the  message  presented,  and  it  prevents  the 
speaker  from  using  action  that  would  be  effective,  by  caus- 
ing him  to  feel  that  enough  action  has  been  used.  Because 
of  the  last-named  characteristic,  which  leads  the  speaker 


ACTION  THAT  IS  ONLY  IMPULSIVE  257 

to  believe  that  he  is  using  good  action  when  he  is  not,  it  is 
a  most  deceiving  fault. 

What  are  some  of  the  ways  in  which  this  fault  shows 
itself?  Think  a  moment  and  you  will  answer  the  question 
for  yourself.  Have  you  not  a  clear  mental  picture  of 
many  speakers  as  they  nervously  shift  back  and  forth  on 
their  feet,  from  one  foot  to  the  other  ?  Is  it  not  clear  that 
this  is  action  that  merely  relieves  nervous  pressure  without 
connecting  the  speaker  more  closely  with  his  subject  or 
his  audience?  Have  you  not  seen  speakers  nervously  walk 
from  side  to  side  of  the  platform  without  any  apparent 
reason  for  so  doing?  And  every  time  you  have  witnessed 
such  movements  have  you  not  realized  that  something  was 
wrong?  Think  how  often  you  have  seen  speakers  ner- 
vously raising  the  eyebrows,  batting  the  eyes,  etc.,  when 
such  action  only  distracted  your  attention  from  the  speech ! 
Have  you  not  sat  before  speakers  who  so  often  put  their 
hands  behind  the  back  and  took  them  away,  thrust  them 
into  the  pockets  and  took  them  out,  etc.,  that  you  felt  the 
desire  to  tie  their  hands  in  one  position  and  keep  them 
there?  No  argument  is  needed  to  prove  that  such  action 
lessens  the  effectiveness  of  a  speech.  How  many  times  we 
have  seen  speakers  nervously  clench  the  hand,  or  extend  it 
from  the  side,  as  if  to  start  a  gesture,  and  yet  never  really 
make  the  gesture !  Every  time  we  have  seen  such  a  move- 
ment, have  we  not  wondered  what  the  speaker  started  to 
do,  and  why  he  did  not  complete  what  he  began  ?  In  other 
words,  has  it  not  always  taken  our  attention  away  from 
the  speech?  Such  are  the  proverbial  ways  in  which  this 
fault  of  impulsive  action  manifests  itself. 

The  outstanding  cause  of  nervous  false  action,  with  all  its 


258        UNDESIRABLE  AND  DESIRABLE  ACTION 

ill  effects,  is  a  lack  of  self-control.  The  lack  of  self-control, 
in  turn,  is  caused  by  the  fact  that  the  speaker's  desire  to 
do  something  is  greater  than  his  conception  of  what  it  is 
he  is  trying  to  do.  What  should  we  think  of  a  mechanic 
who,  when  it  was  necessary  to  get  an  important  piece  of 
work  done  in  a  few  minutes,  would  begin  to  pace  nervously 
to  and  fro,  pick  up  a  tool  here  and  another  there,  and  fling 
them  away  unused?  We  should  see  at  once  that  he  was 
incapable  of  performing  that  task,  that  he  was  incapable 
because  he  lacked  self-control,  and  that  he  lacked  self- 
control  because  he  had  formed  no  clear  conception  either 
of  the  thing  to  be  done  or  of  how  to  do  it.  Is  this  case 
not  parallel  to  that  of  the  uncontrolled  speaker  before 
an  audience?  The  speaker  has  an  important  task,  else  he 
should  not  be  addressing  an  audience.  He  realizes  the  im- 
portance of  his  task,  else  he  would  not  be  so  nervous  that 
he  cannot  control  himself.  His  task  also  must  be  com- 
pleted in  but  a  few  minutes.  If,  during  these  pressing 
moments,  the  speaker  falls  to  pacing  aimlessly  to  and  fro, 
if  he  flings  his  hands  about  in  nervous  impotence,  he  proves 
himself  incapable  of  performing  the  important  task  before 
him,  because  his  eagerness  to  do  is  greater  than  his  con- 
ception of  what  to  do. 

To  remove  this  fault,  the  student  must  first  get  a  clearer 
conception  of  his  duty  to  himself,  which  is,  to  stand  before 
his  hearers  as  their  leader;  and,  as  such,  to  make  his  every 
movement  count.  He  must  make  no  false  motions,  else 
he  will  prove  a  false  leader.  His  task  is  to  lead  his  hearers 
closer  to  the  things  talked  about,  that  they  may  see  for 
themselves  the  truth  of  what  he  is  saying.  When  the 
student  of  speech  has  thoroughly  mastered  this  conception 


ACTION   THAT    BREEDS    SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS   259 

of  a  speaker,  he  will  stand  as  immovable  as  the  proverbial 
stone  wall  till  there  is  something  to  be  gained  by  his  moving; 
yet,  at  the  same  time,  he  will  hold  his  nervous  energies 
poised,  ready  for  instant  and  appropriate  action  at  the 
proper  moment. 

The  next  step  to  be  taken  by  the  speaker  in  order  to 
overcome  the  fault  discussed,  is  to  hold  the  mind  firmly 
on  the  thing  that  inclines  him  to  action,  until  he  clearly 
sees  why  he  wishes  to  move,  what  his  movement  will  do 
toward  making  his  message  clearer  both  to  himself  and  to 
the  audience.  When  he  has  realized  this  conception,  his 
next  step  will  be  easy.  All  that  remains  is  for  him  to 
move: 

Whenever  he  has  this  genuine  reason  for  action  and 
this  clear  conception  of  how  his  movement  will  give  to 
him  and  his  audience  a  fuller  realization  of  the  inner 
nature  of  the  things  discussed  and  of  his  purpose  in  dis- 
cussing them. 

If  the  student  will  school  himself  to  act  always  in  ac- 
cordance with  this  law,  he  will  not  only  remove  this  fault 
but  will  also  remove  many  other  faults,  and  will  go  far 
toward  acquiring  perfect  action  in  his  speaking. 


IV.  Action  That   Breeds   Self-consciousness 

The  fourth  kind  of  undesirable  action  is  action  that  breeds 
self -consciousness.  Every  student  of  speaking  is  anxious, 
above  most  things  else,  to  free  himself  from  that  arch- 
enemy, self-consciousness.  This  desire  is  to  be  encouraged, 
for  no  speaker  can  hope  to  become  truly  accomplished 


260       UNDESIRABLE  AND  DESIRABLE  ACTION 

who  has  not  conquered  self-consciousness.  The  reason  is 
a  simple  one.  The  mind  cannot  be  in  two  places  at  once. 
If  the  mind  of  the  speaker  be  occupied  by  thoughts  of 
himself,  it  cannot  be  absorbed  in  the  message  to  be  pre- 
sented. If  he  is  not  thinking  what  he  is  saying,  the  speaker 
is  but  repeating  words.  He  would  better  stop,  and  leave 
the  platform  at  once.  Let  us  try  to  find  what  there  is  in 
action  that  tends  to  make-  one  self-conscious,  that  we  may 
learn  how  to  avoid  it. 

That  fault  in  our  action,  which  makes  us  self-conscious, 
does  so  because  it  makes  us  conscious  of  our  action.  The 
question  is,  therefore,  when  are  we  conscious  of  our 
action?  To  answer  this  question,  imagine  yourself  before 
an  audience.  Recall  some  of  the  times  when  you  were 
self-conscious.  Impersonate  yourself  in  those  conditions. 
Do  you  not  find  that  you  were  sometimes  conscious  of 
your  action  when  you  were  not  acting  at  all?  Remember 
the  times  when  you  said  to  yourself :  "Oh,  if  I  only  knew 
what  to  do  with  my  hands !"  If  your  hands  were  moving 
at  such  times,  they  were  merely  trying  to  hide  somewhere, 
curling  up  one  inside  the  other,  slipping  into  your  pockets, 
or  behind  your  back.  More  often  they  were  hanging,  inac- 
tive, like  weights  at  your  side.  Think  now  of  those  other 
times  when  you  thought  you  would  use  your  hands.  We  can 
see  you  now.  You  thrust  a  hand  boldly  forth,  and  then, 
in  mid-air,  that  hand  suddenly  seems  paralyzed.  After 
what  seems  an  age  of  agony,  it  retreats  awkwardly  to  a 
place  of  safety  behind  your  back.  These  experiences  make 
it  clear  that  we  are  conscious  of  our  action  both  when  we 
act  and  when  we  do  not  act. 

From  these  examples,  it  would  seem  that  we  are  con- 


ACTION   THAT   BREEDS   SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS    26 1 

scious  of  our  action  sometimes  because  we  act  and  some- 
times because  we  do  not  act.  When  we  examine  these 
cases  more  carefully,  however,  we  discover  a  deeper  cause. 
We  find  that: 

We  are  conscious  of  our  action  neither  because  we  act 
nor  because  we  do  not  act,  but  rather  because  the  source 
of  our  action  is  not  strong  enough  to  make  our  action 
what  it  should  be. 

Take  the  case  when  we  are  afraid  to  move  from  one 
position  to  another.  Evidently  the  only  thing  that  makes 
us  think  about  such  a  movement  at  all,  is  the  consciousness 
that  we  are  not  moving.  We  certainly  have  no  sufficient 
reason  for  moving  to  another  position.  If  we  had  any- 
thing definite  to  do,  which  thing  could  be  done  so  much 
better  in  another  position  that  we  wanted  to  move  simply 
to  do  that  thing,  then  we  should  go  ahead  and  do  that  thing, 
and  think  nothing  about  the  movement.  That  is  the  way 
we  are  accustomed  to  do  in  every-day  life.  The  actions  of 
our  minds  and  of  our  bodies,  in  these  things  we  do  in 
every-day  life,  are  exactly  the  same  as  they  are  when  we 
are  before  an  audience,  provided  we  have  the  same  things 
to  cause  our  bodies  to  act,  and  provided  we  assume  toward 
those  things  the  same  attitude  before  an  audience  as  we 
have  assumed  in  private.  It  is  clear,  therefore,  that: 

Whenever  we  are  conscious  of  our  action  before  an 
audience,  it  is  because  we  lack  the  proper  cause  of  action. 
We  either  do  not  keenly  sense  the  thing  that  would 
cause  us  to  act,  or  we  do  not  have  a  clear  conception  of 
what  we  wish  to  accomplish  by  action,  or  we  do  not 
assume  a  strong  enough  attitude  toward  the  thing  caus- 


262      UNDESIRABLE  AND  DESIRABLE  ACTION 

ing  our  action,  or  we  allow  our  minds  to  turn  aside  from 
that  thing  before  the  action  is  completed. 

To  avoid  any  action  that  makes  us  self-conscious,  it  is 
necessary  to  apply  the  law  stated  above:  "The  mind  can- 
not be  in  two  places  at  the  same  time."  Whenever  we  find 
ourselves  conscious  of  our  action,  we  must  immediately 
compel  ourselves  to  become  intensely  conscious  of  some- 
thing else,  and  that  something  else  must  be  the  thing  to- 
ward which  we  wish  to  act,  just  as  we  would  fix  our  minds 
on  an  apple  that  we  might  wish  to  get,  and  not  on  the  action 
of  getting  that  apple. 

V.  Awkward  Action 

Awkwardness  is  one  of  the  greatest  faults  in  action.  Not 
only  is  it  bad  for  the  audience  because  it  distracts  their 
attention  from  the  message,  it  is  also  bad  for  the  student 
and  for  the  teacher  of  speech.  For  the  student  it  is  bad 
both  because  it  breeds  self-consciousness  and  makes  him 
ashamed  to  speak,  and  also  because  he  often  despairs  of 
ever  being  able  to  overcome  it.  Awkwardness  in  a  pupil 
often  brings  distress  to  the  teacher,  first  because  the  teacher 
feels  he  can  remove  awkwardness  only  by  wasting,  for  him- 
self and  the  pupil,  long  periods  of  time  in  superficial  drills 
which  in  no  way  develop  the  thinking  power  of  the  student ; 
and,  secondly,  because  many  teachers,  according  to  their 
own  testimony,  find  it  impossible  to  correct  awkwardness 
in  a  pupil. 

Let  us  understand  that  there  is  a  decided  difference  be- 
tween "clumsy"  and  "awkward."  Clumsiness  has  to  do 
with  the  way  a  thing  is  proportioned  and  put  together.  A 


AWKWARD  ACTION  263 

person  with  ill-proportioned,  deformed,  hands  or  feet  or 
limbs,  for  example,  is  clumsy  and  can  never  cease  to  be  so. 
But  awkwardness  has  to  do  with  the  way  a  person  physic- 
ally adapts  himself  to  conditions.  It  has  to  do  primarily 
with  action.  The  Standard  dictionary  says:  "The  finest 
untrained  colt  is  awkward ;  a  horse  that  is  clumsy  in  build 
can  never  be  trained  out  of  its  awkwardness."  From  this 
we  see  that  a  clumsy  person  is  always  awkward,  but  an 
awkward  man  may  not  be  clumsy.  Awkwardness  is  the 
result  of  training,  or  of  the  lack  of  it. 

We  are  now  concerned  with  the  student  whose  training 
has  somehow  made  his  action  ill-adapted  to  speech-work. 
We  are  in  a  class  in  Public  Speaking.  A  very  awkward 
young  man  goes  to  the  platform.  Watch  him!  What  is 
the  matter  with  his  action?  He  seems  to  have  impulses  to 
gesture  at  places  where  action  might  well  be  used.  Yet 
mark  how  his  arm  rises  from  his  side  as  stiffly  as  if  it  were 
a  stick  of  wood  tied  on  at  the  shoulder  and  raised  by  an 
unseen  string.  Not  only  do  his  arm  and  hand  seem  stiff, 
they  also  seem  helpless.  His  hand  seems  to  be  sent  to  do 
something  without  knowing  what  it  is  to  do.  Watch  his 
face,  for  the  face  betrays  the  state  of  mind.  See  how  he 
looks  in  one  direction  and  sends  his  hand  off  in  another 
direction.  He  does  this  even  when  his  action  refers  to 
something  which  he  should  be  pointing  out  to  his  audience. 
This  alone  is  enough  to  make  his  action  bad !  His  mind  is 
not  in  the  act,  so  how  can  the  action  be  good?  He  feels 
an  impulse  to  do  something  with  his  body  and  starts  to  do 
it,  then  immediately  turns  his  mind  to  something  else  be- 
fore the  action  is  performed.  In  this  we  have  found  one 
of  the  causes  of  awkwardness. 


264        UNDESIRABLE  AND  DESIRABLE  ACTION 

Is  this  turning  the  mind  away  from  an  action  before  the 
action  is  completed,  the  whole  and  unvarying  cause  of 
awkwardness?  If  so,  then  every  time  we  find  a  man 
doing  one  thing  with  his  mind  and  another  thing  with  his 
body,  we  shall  find  the  action  of  his  body  awkward.  Let 
us  see  if  this  is  true.  There  goes  a  man  down  town.  He 
is  holding  his  morning  paper  before  him  in  both  hands 
and  is  absolutely  lost  in  the  news  he  is  reading.  Yet  watch 
his  movement!  He  is  as  free  and  graceful  in  his  general 
movement  as  if  his  whole  mind  were  given  to  it.  How 
can  this  be?  It  is  simply  a  matter  of  oft-repeated  asso- 
ciation. This  man  has  so  often  given  his  whole  mind  to 
mastering  his  movements  while  walking  these  streets,  that 
his  body  now  makes  the  movements  correctly  from  mere 
habit. 

Here  comes  a  person  of  very  different  type.  Note  how 
the  boys  upon  the  street  nudge  one  another  as  they  see 
him  coming  and  whisper,  "Rube!  Bumpkin!"  His  mind 
is  not  taken  away  from  his  walking  by  the  news,  for  he 
has  no  paper.  He  seems  as  old  as  the  man  whom  we 
have  just  been  watching,  hence,  has  had  as  many  years  in 
which  to  form  the  habit  of  good  walking.  Why,  then,  does 
he  walk  so  awkwardly?  Why  does  he  lift  his  feet  so  slowly 
and  why  does  he  raise  them  so  high,  as  if  he  were  going 
up  stairs?  Why  does  he  raise  his  hand  as  if  it  were  lifting 
a  weight,  and  why  does  he  carry  his  body  forward  as  if 
it  were  bearing  a  load?  His  mind  started  his  body  down 
this  street,  and  then  that  mind  immediately  discovered  so 
many  things  to  which  it  was  not  accustomed,  that  the  mind 
forgot  the  body,  left  it  walking  on  in  its  accustomed  manner 
just  as  the  mind  of  the  other  man  did.  But  mark!  This 


AWKWARD  ACTION  265 

man's  mind  left  his  body  to  walk  in  its  accustomed  manner. 
As  a  result,  he  is  now  walking  as  he  has  trained  his  body 
to  do  over  the  clods  in  the  field,  hence  the  height  to  which 
he  lifts  his  feet  as  if  to  raise  them  over  the  clods.  His 
feet  have  been  trained  to  bear  the  weight  of  heavy  cow- 
hide boots  and  his  hands  have  been  used  to  lifting  the 
handle  of  fork  or  shovel  with  a  load  at  the  end,  hence  the 
slow,  heavy  movement  of  legs  and  arms.  But  note!  We 
said  above,  that  awkwardness  has  to  do  with  the  way  in 
which  one  physically  adapts  himself  to  conditions.  This 
man  seems  awkward  here  on  the  street  because  his  move- 
ment does  not  fit  in  with  his  present  surroundings.  This 
same  action  might  not  be  awkward  back  in  the  harvest 
field.  The  chances  are  that  we  should  find  this  man's 
movements  very  appropriate  there,  which  is  equivalent  to 
saying  that  they  would  be  graceful.  The  important  thing 
before  us  is,  that  he  is  awkward  here  because  his  training 
has  given  his  action  a  different  Movement  (as  we  shall 
use  that  term  in  the  chapter  on  Vocal  Movement)  from  the 
Movement  which  his  present  task  requires.  In  this  we 
have  discovered  the  second  and  principal  cause  of 
awkwardness. 

We  are  all  familiar  with  another  kind  of  awkwardness, 
the  kind  we  see  when  someone  is  bashful,  or  timid,  or 
embarrassed,  or  confused,  or  guilty.  A  careful  study  of 
these  manifestations  of  awkwardness,  will  show  that  they 
all  come  from  the  same  fundamental  cause. >  The  cause  is 
uncertainty  of  mind.  This  is  the  third  cause  of  awkward- 
ness, and  the  one  with  which  students  of  speech  have  to 
contend  most  often. 


266       UNDESIRABLE  AND  DESIRABLE  ACTION 

When  the  mind  is  uncertain,  the  movements  of  the 
body  tend  to  be  awkward. 

What  are  we  to  do  to  remove  awkwardness  from  the 
action  of  a  student  of  speaking?  First  we  must  look  to 
the  first  cause  of  awkwardness,  stated  above,  the  tendency 
of  the  mind  of  the  speaker  to  turn  away  from  the  thing 
acted  upon,  before  the  action  on  (or  toward)  that  thing 
is  completed.  The  student  must  be  schooled  to  locate  as 
definitely  the  imaginative  thing  toward  which  he  acts,  as 
if  he  had  to  go  to  it  and  actually  handle  it.  Furthermore, 
his  mind  must  be  trained  to  imagine  that  it  is  actually 
handling  that  thing  as  long  as  his  action  toward  that  thing 
continues.  Next,  the  student  of  speech  must  be  trained  to 
time  his  action  to  speech-work.  He  must  realize  that  his 
action  can  be  effective  in  speaking,  only  by  being  light  and 
free;  for  he  must  be  ready,  constantly,  at  any  instant,  to 
turn  from  one  action  to  any  other  which  the  nature  of 
his  subject  and  the  effect  of  his  subject  on  his  audience, 
may  seem  to  require.  When  he  has  thoroughly  grasped  this 
conception  of  the  speaker,  it  only  remains  for  the  student 
to  put  this  conception  into  practice  every  time  he  attempts 
to  speak,  and  to  keep  his  mind  certain,  straightforward, 
and  vigorous.  If  he  does  these  things,  his  awkwardness 
will  disappear  with  amazing  rapidity. 


Kinds  of  Desirable  Action 

In  the  treatment  of  Undesirable  and  Desirable  Action, 
we  have  followed  somewhat  the  same  plan  that  our  parents 
followed  in  our  childhood.  They  found  us  so  full  of 


KINDS  OF  DESIRABLE  ACTION  267 

action  of  all  kinds,  that  they  first  spent  a  considerable 
amount  of  time  in  showing  us  what  we  should  not  do.  After 
that,  when  we  had  lopped  off  many  of  our  tendencies  to 
make  poor  use  of  our  energies,  they  showed  us  some  of 
the  fundamental  things  which  were  good  to  do.  Years  of 
experience  with  students  of  speaking,  have  proved  to  us 
the  wisdom  of  following  this  same  plan  in  studying  action 
for  speech.  We  are  fully  conscious  of  the  educational 
principle  that  it  is  better  not  to  turn  the  mind  to  the  thing 
not  desired,  but  rather  to  turn  it  to  the  thing  desired,  and 
let  the  undesirable  thing  be  forgotten.  This  is  one  of  the 
best  rules  in  the  psychology  of  education.  We  are  as  deeply 
devoted  to  this  principle  as  anyone,  as  we  shall  demon- 
strate throughout  this  work;  but  when  anything  becomes 
a  habit,  as  deeply  rooted  as  any  form  of  undesirable  action 
may  become,  we  have  found  it  far  more  practical  first  to 
find  the  mental  cause  of  the  bad  action  and  remove  that 
cause.  A  soldier  is  never  enlisted  for  active  service  until 
he  is  found  to  be  free  from  hindering  physical  defects. 
Active  service  in  speaking  demands  the  same  care.  For 
this  reason,  we  have  considered,  first,  the  principal  faults 
to  be  avoided  in  speech-action. 

We  have  now  examined  the  five  kinds  of  action  that  is 
fundamentally  bad.  Each  of  these  kinds  the  speaker  must' 
avoid  if  he  would  have  his  action  give  full  aid  to  his  speak- 
ing. A  speaker  may  be  free  from  all  these,  however,  and 
yet  derive  no  help  from  his  bodily  action.  The  fact  that 
he  has  learned  what  not  to  do,  is  no  proof  that  he  knows 
what  to  do.  So  far  as  action  is  concerned,  he  may  now  be 
a  mere  negative.  To  put  it  in  the  form  of  an  Irish  bull, 
his  action  may  all  be  inaction. 


268        UNDESIRABLE  AND  DESIRABLE  ACTION 

A  man  cannot  lead  in  anything  without  feeling  the 
necessity  for  action,  physical  as  well  as  mental. 

Especially  is  this  the  case  when  a  man  attempts  to  speak. 
His  very  nature  tells  him  that  his  time  before  the  audience 
is  so  short,  and  the  work  expected  of  him  so  great,  that 
he  must  employ  every  feasible  means  to  give  his  speech 
the  greatest  possible  effect  in  the  shortest  possible  time. 

Since  action  is  the  most  effective  means  he  has,  the 
speaker  must  learn  not  only  what  kinds  of  action  to 
avoid,  but  also  what  kinds  of  action  to  use. 

To  discover  the  kinds  of  Desirable  Action,  let  us  ex- 
amine the  principal  things  which  we  should  attempt  to 
do  in  our  action  in  speaking.  (Let  it  be  understood  at 
the  start,  however,  that  we  have  no  intention  to  attempt 
to  show  the  student  when  or  where,  in  a  speech,  action 
should  be  used.  To  do  that  would  throw  the  student  back 
into  some  of  the  bad  habits  of  action  which  we  have  just 
been  learning  to  avoid.)  Careful  investigation  will  show 
us  that  there  are  just  three  fundamental  things  which  we 
attempt  to  do  in  our  action  in  speaking,  i.  We  try  to 
symbolize  the  thing  of  which  we  think.  That  is,  we  at- 
tempt to  make  our  action  indicate  the  size  or  shape  of 
that  thing.  2.  We  attempt  to  do  something  with  the  thing 
of  which  we  think.  3.  We  try  to  identify  ourselves  with 
the  thing  of  which  we  think.  That  is,  we  tend  to  get  our 
muscles  into  the  same  state  that  thing  is  in,  or  we  tend 
to  make  the  same  motions  that  thing  makes.  Accordingly, 
as  we  attempt  one  or  another  of  these  things,  does  our 
action  fall  into  one  or  another  of  the  three  general  classes 
of  action.  The  three  classes  of  Desirable  Action  we  call: 


PRACTICE   IN   SPEAKING  269 

i.  Action  of  Symbolism;  2.  Action  of  Purpose;  3.  Action 
of  Identification, 

To  each  of  these  classes  we  shall  devote  a  separate 
chapter.  In  the  present  discussion,  we  merely  present  these 
classes  that  the  intending  speaker  may  see  more  clearly 
what  lies  before  him  in  the  study  of  action. 


PRACTICE    IN    SPEAKING    ON    UNDESIRABLE    AND 
DESIRABLE  ACTION 

To  get  the  clearest  and  most  accurate  understanding  of 
Undesirable  and  Desirable  Action,  and  the  most  immediate 
application  to  effective  speaking,  outline  this  chapter  and 
then  practice  speaking  extempore  on  the  various  divisions 
and  on  the  whole  outline,  illustrating  both  faults  and  cures. 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  REMOVE  FAULTS  OF  ACTION 

Great  care  should  be  exercised  in  efforts  to  remove 
faults  of  action.  The  speaker  should  let  his  mind  dwell 
on  his  action  only  long  enough  to  discover  its  faultiness, 
then  should  immediately  turn  his  mind  to  the  cure  for 
the  fault. 

Unless  this  practice  is  rigorously  enforced,  while  the 
speaker  is  removing  one  fault  he  will  be  breeding  another, 
perhaps  a  worse  one. 

An  earnest  effort  has  been  made  to  outline,  above,  a 
cure  for  each  fault,  that  will  help  the  speaker  to  turn  the 
mind  away  from  his  action  and  to  turn  it  toward  the  things 


27O       UNDESIRABLE  AND  DESIRABLE  ACTION 

about  which  he  should  be  thinking,  to  make  his  speaking 
more  effective.  The  cures  outlined  should  be  carefully 
studied  and  practiced.  If  this  is  done,  it  will  prove  a 
successful  series  of  experiments  to  remove  faults  of  ac- 
tion; and  it  will,  at  the  same  time,  keep  the  mind  of  the 
intending  speaker  so  occupied  with  constructive  work  in 
speaking,  that  his  general  speech-growth  will  not  be  tem- 
porarily checked,  as  is  too  often  the  case  when  corrective 
work  in  action  is  attempted. 

If  it  seems  desirable  to  devote  a  few  days  to  these  efforts 
before  undertaking  the  development  of  desirable  action,  the 
subjects  for  speeches  used  in  some  of  the  former  experi- 
ments may  be  used  again  here. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
ACTION  OF  SYMBOLISM 

IN  the  last  chapter,  we  learned  that  there  are  three  gen- 
eral classes  of  Desirable  Action  in  speaking,  i.  Action  of 
Symbolism;  2.  Action  of  Purpose;  3.  Action  of  Identifi- 
cation. 

USES  OF  SYMBOLIC  ACTION 

I.  In  Action  of  Symbolism,  we  attempt  to  show  the  size 
of  the  thing  spoken  of.  One  of  the  most  familiar  examples 
of  this  action  is  the  thing  we  all  do  when  we  tell  our 
experience  in  fishing.  It  is  always  the  "biggest  one"  that 
gets  back  into  the  water.  When  we  tell  of  our  bitter  dis- 
appointment when  we  saw  the  fish  slip  off  the  hook,  we 
invariably  place  one  hand  at  the  imaginary  head  of  the 
fish  and  the  other  hand  at  the  imaginary  tail  and  exclaim: 
"It  was  that  long!"  The  fact  that  everyone  who  sees  the 
action,  is  inclined  to  exclaim:  "O,  not  that  long!"  is 
direct  proof  that  the  symbol  has  been  complete  and  the 
action  effective.  The  size  of  the  fish  has  been  clearly  in- 
dicated. 

This  intense  effectiveness  of  such  action,  leads  us  to  use 
it  on  many  occasions.  We  employ  action  of  symbolism 
to  suggestion  the  height  of  a  giant,  a  tree,  a  building,  a 

271 


272  ACTION  OF  SYMBOLISM 

mountain.  We  use  it  to  suggest  the  expanse  of  sky,  of 
land,  of  water,  of  an  army;  or  for  picturing  the  thickness 
of  a  wall,  the  thinness  of  a  blade,  the  circumference  of  a 
tree,  etc. 

2.  We  employ  Action  of  Symbolism  to  convey  an  idea 
of  the  shape  of  the  thing  talked  about.  If  we  desire  to 
place  an  imaginary  globe  before  the  audience,  we  place 
our  hands  on  an  imaginary  surface  of  that  globe  and 
then  move  the  hands  so  as  to  describe  the  imaginary  cir- 
cumference of  it.  If  we  wish  to  suggest  a  square  object, 
do  we  not  move  our  hands  along  imaginary  sides  of  that 
object?  We  find  this  the  most  effective  means  of  describ- 
ing a  straight  line,  a  curved  line,  a  level  surface,  an  incline, 
a  protruding  surface,  a  receding  surface.  In  fact,  every 
shape  can  be  effectively  suggested  by  action  of  symbolism. 

Tyler  (Early  History  of  Mankind,  p.  82)  and  Hirn 
(Origins  of  Art,  p.  156)  both  emphasize  the  close  relation 
between  action-language  and  drawing.  Speaking  of  the 
origin  of  drawing  among  primitive  peoples,  Hirn  says: 
"Designs  are  only  a  projection,  on  a  different  surface,  of 
the  hand-movements  with  which,  in  their  pantomimic 
language,  they  describe  the  outlines  of  objects,  in  the  air." 
This  testimony  virtually  proves  Symbolic  Action  to  be  the 
origin  of  all  pictorial  art.  It  proves  such  action  to  be  the 
origin  of  drawing,  and  all  the  structural  arts  that  appeal 
to  the  eye,  have  their  beginnings  in  drawing.  Certain  it 
is  that  Symbolic  Action  is  the  form  of  pictorial  art  that 
gets  closest  to  nature.  For  this  reason,  it  is  very  valuable 
in  speech-work.  When  carefully  used,  it  may  take  both 
speaker  and  listener  closer  to  the  nature  of  the  thing  dis- 
cussed than  anything  else  may  do. 


USES  OF  SYMBOLIC  ACTION  273 

Sometimes  the  outline  of  the  thing  we  wish  to  symbolize 
is  constantly  moving.  To  symbolize  such  things,  we  seem 
to  symbolize  the  motion  that  makes  these  outlines.  For 
example,  if  we  wish  to  describe  the  rise  and  fall  of  waves, 
the  most  effective  way  to  do  so,  is  to  let  the  arm  and 
hand  show  the  various  shapes  of  one  of  those  waves.  To 
do  this,  we  find  it  necessary  to  let  the  arm  and  hand  move, 
as  nearly  as  may  be,  as  that  wave  moves.  When  we  do  let 
the  arm  and  hand  move  in  this  manner,  it  seems  as  if  we 
were  imitating  or  symbolizing  the  motion  of  that  wave. 
This  is  not,  however,  or  should  not  be,  the  motive  that 
moves  the  speaker  to  action. 

The  function  of  Action  of  Symbolism  is  not  to  give 
a  representation  of  the  action  of  things  we  are  describing, 
but  only  of  their  sizes  and  shapes.  The  instant  we  begin 
to  symbolize  or  imitate  the  movement  of  things  described, 
with  no  stronger  motive  than  just  to  show  that  we  can 
imitate  that  movement,  our  action  descends  to  the  low  grade 
of  mimicry  and  is  worse  than  useless. 

In  this  brief  discussion,  we  learn  that  symbolic  action 
is  an  effort  on  the  part  of  the  hands  of  the  speaker  to 
carve  in  the  air,  as  it  were,  the  shapes  and  sizes  of  things 
about  which  he  is  speaking,  to  help  the  audience  to  picture 
these  sizes  and  shapes  as  the  audience  could  not  do  from 
mere  words.  This  is  the  simplest  form  of  action  for 
speech,  yet,  notwithstanding  its  simplicity,  and  notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  it  is  so  very  expressive,  a  significant 
fact  is  that  the  average  student  of  speech  practically  never 
uses  such  action,  in  his  speaking,  until  he  is  given  some 
special  help  in  it. 

This  seems  to  result  from  the  general  habit  of  inaction 


274  ACTION  OF  SYMBOLISM 

into  which  the  student  has  lapsed,  in  all  his  speech  efforts. 
The  average  student  of  speech  uses  no  kind  of  action  until 
he  has  been  shown  the  great  value  of  action  in  his  speaking. 
Then  it  is  sometimes  difficult  to  get  him  to  control  his 
action  to  any  degree  of  temperance. 


THE    FUNDAMENTAL    PRINCIPLE    OF    EFFECTIVE 
ACTION  IN  SPEECH 

Before  attempting  to  develop  Bodily  Action,  let  the  in- 
tending speaker  distinctly  understand: 

The  fundamental  principle  of  effective  action  in  speak- 
ing, namely,  that  it  depends  primarily  on  the  handling 
of  material  things.  Action  in  speech  can  be  effective  only  token 
the  speaker  so  distinctly  imagines  that  he  is  handling  material 
things,  that  he  acts  as  if  he  were  doing  so 

This  same  principle  is  stated  by  Dr.  James  (Talks  to 
Teachers,  p.  38)  in  these  words :  "Every  acquired  reaction 
is,  as  a  rule,  either  a  complication  grafted  on  a  native  reac- 
tion, or  a  substitute  for  a  native  reaction,  which  the  same 
object  originally  tended  to  provoke."  All  action  in  public 
speaking  is  an  "acquired  reaction."  If,  while  speaking,  we 
have  a  tendency  to  act  (or  react)  toward  certain  things 
when  we  think  of  them,  we  tend  to  do  so  according  to  the 
principle  stated  by  Dr.  James,  namely,  because  previously 
we  have  been  moved  to  action  by  these  objects,  or  by 
objects  closely  related  to  these.  This  is  why  all  Bodily 
Action  for  Speaking  should  be  taught  through  actual  con- 
tact with  things.  Professor  Huey  (Psychology  and 
Pedagogy  of  Reading,  pp.  189  et  seq.)  emphasizes  the 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  SYMBOLIC  ACTION    275 

fact  that  primitive  peoples  and  children  are  both  proficient 
and  effective  in  the  use  of  action-language.  The  basic 
cause  for  this  is,  that  primitive  peoples  and  children  handle 
Concrete  Things;  and  when  they  talk,  they  talk  about  the 
things  they  have  handled,  hence,  they  come  to  have  strong 
imaginative  contact  with  things. 

In  Chapters  II  and  III  we  learned  that  it  is  always 
easiest  to  imagine  a  thing  when  we  have  recently  experi- 
enced that  thing  through  the  actual  senses.  This  makes 
it  clear  that: 

The  natural  method  by  which  to  develop  Bodily  Ac- 
tion, is  to  have  the  speaker  first  handle  material  things, 
and  then  to  have  him  imagine  himself  handling  them. 
This  is  the  method  we  shall  pursue  in  all  the  following 
experiments,  not  only  in  Action  of  Symbolism  but  also  in 
Action  of  Purpose  and  Action  of  Identification. 


Experiments  to  Develop  Symbolic  Action 

To  help  the  student  begin  his  development  in  symbolic 
action,  we  have  outlined  the  following  experiments.  In 
performing  these  experiments,  the  arm  and  wrist  should 
be  kept  relaxed  and  free.  The  observer  will  more  clearly 
see  the  outline  of  the  object  symbolized,  if  the  hand  of 
the  speaker  lag  behind  the  rest  of  the  arm,  as  if  determined 
to  keep  on  indicating  that  particular  part  of  the  outline 
until  the  arm  draws  it  on  to  another  part.  (We  might  give 
the  hint  here  that  this  is  the  psychological  reason  for  the 
superficial  rule  given  in  some  books  on  action,  namely, 
that  the  wrist  and  arm  should  lead  the  hand  in  all  gestures. ) 


276  ACTION  OF  SYMBOLISM 

It  will  also  aid  the  speaker  greatly,  in  these  experiments, 
if  he  will  imagine  a  friend  beside  him  and  will  determine 
to  make  this  friend  both  see  and  feel  the  exact  size  and 
shape  of  the  thing  symbolized. 

i.  Procure  two  pieces  of  card-board  fifteen  to  twenty 
inches  long  and  from  a  third  to  half  as  wide  as  they  are 
long.  (The  top  and  bottom  pieces  of  an  ordinary  shoe-box 
will  do  very  well  for  these  experiments.)  Place  your 
study-table  against  the  wall,  clear  a  space  on  the  table 
adjacent  to  the  wall,  and  place  one  piece  of  the  card-board 
with  one  end  resting  on  the  table  a  few  inches  from  the 
wall  and  the  other  end  of  the  card-board  leaning  against 
the  wall.  You  will  see  at  once  that  this  forms  a  very 
distinct  right-angled  triangle.  Determine  to  fix  in  mind 
the  exact  outline  of  this  triangle,  by  tracing  it  very  care- 
fully with  your  hand.  To  do  so,  step  to  the  end  of  the 
table  where  you  can  easily  bring  the  palm  of  your  hand 
against  the  wall.  Place  your  hand  against  the  wall  at  the 
point  where  the  top  end  of  the  card-board  meets  the  wall. 
Now  pass  the  hand  downward  on  the  wall,  to  the  table. 
As  you  do  so,  get  a  distinct  conception  of  the  exact  move- 
ment the  hand  must  make,  to  indicate  this  rigidly  per- 
pendicular line.  When  the  hand  has  reached  the  table, 
pass  it  over  the  surface  of  the  table  to  the  point  where 
the  lower  end  of  the  card-board  meets  the  table,  then  pass 
the  palm  of  the  hand  over  the  card-board,  to  the  top  of  the 
triangle.  Retrace  the  whole  outline  until  you  are  sure  that 
your  hand  can  indicate  these  exact  lines  and  angles.  Step 
to  the  other  end  of  the  table  and  perform  the  entire  ex- 
periment with  the  other  hand.  (These  movements  will 
be  much  more  free  and  graceful  if  you  will  employ  the 


EXPERIMENTS   TO  DEVELOP   SYMBOLIC  ACTION    277 

hand  farthest  from  the  wall;  for  the  palm  of  that  hand 
is  already  turned  toward  the  wall,  whereas  the  back  of  the 
hand  nearest  the  wall,  is  turned  toward  the  wall.) 

As  soon  as  this  preliminary  experiment  has  been  com- 
pleted, step  away  from  the  table,  imagine  that  a  few  yards 
before  you  stands  a  pole  or  tower,  rising  perpendicularly 
in  the  air,  and  that,  from  the  top  of  this,  a  guy-wire  ex- 
tends to  a  fastening  in  the  ground  some  distance  from  the 
base  of  the  pole  (or  tower),  forming  an  immense  right- 
angled  triangle.  Form  a  clear  conception  of  the  location 
and  proportions  of  this  triangle,  and  then  symbolize  it 
(carve  it  in  the  air),  while  you  describe,  aloud,  its  sides 
and  the  approximate  length  of  each.  When  you  have  done 
this  with  one  hand,  imagine  the  triangle  to  be  reversed  in 
position,  and  symbolize  it  with  the  other  hand. 

2.  In  the  second  experiment,  turn  again  to  the  piece  of 
card-board  leaning  from  the  table  against  the  wall.  Place  a 
heavy  book  against  the  lower  end  of  the  card-board,  to  pre- 
vent it  from  slipping.  Now  press  the  top  of  the  card-board 
downward  along  the  wall,  while  you  cause  its  middle  portion 
to  bend  outward.  When  it  is  well  rounded  outward,  place  a 
tack  or  a  pin  in  the  wall  at  the  top  of  the  card-board,  to  pre- 
vent it  from  slipping  upward.  Now  pass  the  palm  of  the 
hand  over  this  convex  surface,  formed  by  the  outside  of  the 
card-board.  Continue  to  pass  the  hand  from  top  to  bottom 
and  from  bottom  to  top  of  this  convex  surface,  until  you 
are  sure  that  you  can  symbolize  this  exact  contour.  Step  to 
the  other  end  of  the  table  and  perform  the  entire  experi- 
ment with  the  other  hand.  Now  remove  the  tack  that  is 
holding  the  top  of  the  card-board  down,  and  let  it  straighten. 
Again  press  the  top  downward  along  the  wall,  but,  this 


278  ACTION  OF  SYMBOLISM 

time,  press  the  middle  portion  inward,  toward  the  wall. 
Replace  the  tack  to  hold  it  in  this  position.  Now  perform 
the  same  experiments  with  this  concave  surface  as  you 
did  with  the  convex  surface,  formed  by  the  outside  of 
the  card-board. 

Now  imagine  that,  a  short  distance  before  you,  you  see 
the  elevated  track  of  a  "shoot-the-chutes."  (If  this  modern 
institution  is  not  familiar  to  you,  you  may  imagine  the 
horizon  formed  by  the  rounded  tops  of  a  series  of  hills 
with  concave  valleys  between.)  If  you  think  of  this  track, 
as  it  rises  and  falls,  forming  steep  hills  and  deep  valleys, 
as  the  top  surface  of  something,  you  will  realize  that  it 
is  made  up  of  many  smaller  surfaces  which  are  convex  then 
concave  then  convex  again,  and  so  on.  Imagine  that  you 
are  passing  your  hand  over  just  such  a  surface,  and,  as 
you  do  so,  symbolizing  the  track  by  your  action,  describe 
it.  Symbolize  it  first  with  one  hand  and  then  with  the 
other. 

In  all  action,  such  as  this,  where  the  hand  moves  from 
one  thing  to  another,  the  hand  should  always  move  out- 
ward, to  suggest  increasing  distance  as  well  as  progress 
and  growth  of  freedom  in  the  movement.  Outward,  the 
movement  is  graceful  and  climactic;  inward,  cramped  and 
anticlimactic.  Let  the  right  hand  move  out  to  the  right; 
the  left  hand,  to  the  left. 

3.  For  the  third  experiment,  return  to  the  table  and  take 
up  the  two  pieces  of  card-board.  Stand  them  on  end,  about 
four  inches  from  each  other  on  the  table,  and  lean  them  to- 
gether, so  that  each  supports  the  other.  Now  pass  both 
hands,  simultaneously,  over  the  outside  surface  thus  formed 
from  top  to  bottom  and  from  bottom  to  top  until  you  are 


EXPERIMENTS   TO   DEVELOP   SYMBOLIC   ACTION    279 

sure  that  you  can  symbolize  this  exact  shape  of  spire.  When 
you  have  done  this,  imagine  that  you  see  before  you  a  tall 
church-spire  of  this  same  shape.  Symbolize  this  spire 
with  your  hands,  and,  as  you  do  so,  describe  its  shape  and 
size.  Again  turn  to  the  card-boards  as  they  form  the  out- 
line of  a  spire.  This  time,  have  someone  press  downward 
on  the  top  ends  of  the  card-boards  until  the  sides  curve 
inward,  forming  the  outline  of  a  concave-sided  spire.  Pass 
the  hands  over  these  concave  sides,  simultaneously,  until 
you  are  sure  that  you  can  symbolize  this  exact  shape ;  then 
imagine  a  high  spire  of  this  shape  rising  before  you,  and 
symbolize  it,  as  you  did  the  straight-sided  one,  while  you 
describe  it. 

Now  place  the  card-boards  on  end  on  the  table,  parallel 
to  each  other  and  about* a  foot  apart,  with  a  heavy  book 
outside  each  one  to  prevent  the  lower  end  from  slipping 
outward.  Bring  the  top  ends  together  while  you  start  the 
sides  to  curving  outward.  Now  have  someone  press  down- 
ward on  the  top  ends  until  the  boards  form  the  outline 
of  a  dome.  Pass  your  hands  simultaneously  over  the  sides 
until  you  are  sure  that  you  can, symbolize  this  shape;  then, 
imagine  that  you  see  the  immense  dome  of  a  large  build- 
ing, and  symbolize  this  while  you  describe  its  shape  and 
proportions. 

4.  As  the  fourth  experiment,  with  a  heavy,  blunt  pencil 
and  a  piece  of  string,  draw  a  circle,  at  least  twenty  inches 
in  diameter,  on  a  piece  of  paper.  Pin  this  paper  to  the  wall, 
step  three  or  four  feet  away  from  it,  and,with  the  forefinger, 
trace  the  outline  of  this  circle.  Let  the  finger  start  at  a  point 
on  the  inside  of  the  circumference  near  the  top,  and  begin 
its  circuit  by  moving  outward.  Observe  carefully  the  sugges- 


28O  ACTION  OF  SYMBOLISM 

tion  regarding  the  freedom  and  use  of  the  arm,  wrist,  and 
hand,  given  above  (pp.  275-276).  Do  not  do  either  of 
the  ridiculous  things  students  have  been  known  to  do, 
namely,  to  hold  the  arm  still,  trace  the  circle  by  a  diminu- 
tive movement  of  the  hand  from  the  wrist  only;  and,  the 
opposite  to  this,  to  hold  the  wrist  stiff  and  trace  the  circle 
with  the  whole  stiffened  arm.  Keep  the  whole  arm  as 
light  and  free  as  possible  by  suspending  the  weight  of  it 
very  near  the  shoulder,  and  by  feeling  that  the  arm  con- 
tains innumerable  free  joints. 

Continue  the  experiment  by  tracing  the  circumference 
of  the  circle  before  you  twenty  or  thirty  times,  or  at  least 
until  you  are  sure  you  can  symbolize  it  perfectly  in  the 
air  without  the  outline  before  you.  Do  this  with  first  one 
hand  and  then  the  other,  and  then  place  the  paper  in  a 
horizontal  position  on  the  table  and  repeat  the  whole  ex- 
periment. Now  imagine  that  before  you  are  several  Fer- 
ris-wheels, ranging  in  size  from  one  that  rises  only  a  few 
yards  in  the  air,  to  one  several  hundred  feet  high.  Sym- 
bolize each  of  these,  beginning  with  the  smallest  and  end- 
ing with  the  largest.  Do  this  with  one  hand  and  then 
with  the  other. 

Now  imagine  that  you  are  standing  beside  a  large  race- 
track. You  have,  doubtless,  observed  that  when  a  large 
circle,  such  as  this,  is  observed  on  a  level  surface,  it  seems 
to  cease  to  be  a  true  circle  and  to  become  an  ellipse.  It 
seems  to  flatten  out,  as  it  were,  and  to  extend  farther  to 
your  right  and  left  than  it  does  straight  before  you.  Get 
a  clear  conception  of  these  proportions  of  the  track,  and 
then  symbolize  it  by  the  action  of  your  hand  while  you 
describe  the  track.  Symbolize  it  with  each  hand  separately. 


EXPERIMENTS   TO   DEVELOP   SYMBOLIC   ACTION   28 1 

You  have  now  symbolized  both  kinds  of  lines,  the 
straight  and  the  curved,  and  all  kinds  of  surfaces,  including 
the  perpendicular,  the  horizontal,  the  incline,  the  triangu- 
lar, the  rectangular,  the  protruding,  the  receding,  the  con- 
cave, the  convex,  the  spire  with  straight  sides,  the  spire 
with  concave  sides,  the  dome,  the  circle,  and  the  ellipse. 

5.  As  a  fifth  test,  apply  all  these  experiments  to  practical 
speaking,  by  preparing  a  three-minute  talk  in  which  you 
describe  objects  of  all  the  shapes  which  you  have  symbolized 
in  these  experiments.  Be  prepared  to  perform  all  five  ex- 
periments before  the  class. 

To  get  the  greatest  benefit  from  this  work,  the  speaker 
should  exercise  the  sense  of  location  to  keep  the  object  he 
is  attempting  to  symbolize  near.  All  the  imaginative 
senses  should  be  stimulated  to  receive  the  keenest  sensa- 
tions from  these  objects;  and  the  mind  of  the  speaker 
should  constantly  feel  that  the  whole  experiment  is  an  effort 
to  make  the  object  symbolized  clear  and  distinct  to  the 
imaginary  friend  beside  him. 


CHAPTER  XV 
ACTION  OF  PURPOSE 

THERE  is  necessarily  some  purpose  exercised  whenever 
a  speaker  uses  any  one  of  the  three  kinds  of  action.  In 
neither  of  the  other  two  classes,  however,  are  we  attempt- 
ing to  take  to  us  or  put  away  from  us  or  otherwise  handle 
the  thing  thought  of,  as  we  do  in  the  kind  of  action  now  to 
be  discussed.  For  this  reason  we  call  this  kind  of  action, 
Action  of  Purpose.  We  use  action  of  this  class  when  we 
are  attempting  to  do  one  of  the  following  things :  I.  To  Re- 
ceive Impressions  from  the  thing  thought  of;  2.  To  Repel 
the  Undesirable  things  thought  of;  3.  To  Conquer  the  Op- 
posing; 4.  To  Let  the  Audience  Examine  the  thing  dis- 
cussed; 5.  To  Emphasize  the  thing  discussed. 


I.   ACTION  OF  PURPOSE  TO  RECEIVE  IMPRESSIONS 

When  we  desire  to  receive  impressions  from  anything 
which  we  are  considering,  common-sense  tells  us  that  we 
can  get  the  desired  impressions  only  through  the  senses, 
and  that  we  can  get  the  best  impressions  by  getting  into 
close  contact  with  that  thing.  See  that  man  step  forward, 
incline  his  body  and  his  head,  and  turn  his  ear  forward. 
We  need  not  be  told  that  he  is  trying  to  get  the  fullest 

282 


ACTION  OF  PURPOSE  TO  RECEIVE  IMPRESSIONS   283 

possible  impressions  of  sound  from  something.  A  friend 
tries  hard  to  show  me  some  particular  thing.  Why  do  I 
step  forward,  bend  my  body  and  my  head  forward,  and 
shade  my  eyes  ?  You  know  instantly  that  I  do  these  things 
to  aid  my  impressions  of  sight.  You  wish  to  know  how 
a  certain  thing  feels.  No  one  need  tell  you  that  the 
natural  way  for  you  to  find  out  is  to  step  toward  that 
thing  and  touch  it  with  the  sensitive  part  of  your  fingers. 
Can  you  remember  the  time  when  the  sight  of  a  beautiful 
rose  did  not  make  you  want  to  bring  the  rose  close  to 
your  nose  that  you  might  take  great  lung-fuls  of  its  de- 
licious odor? 

Of  all  persons,  a  speaker  needs  to  get  the  clearest,  the 
quickest,  the  fullest  impressions  of  things;  for  it  is  his 
business  to  get  them  for  the  benefit  of  the  entire  audience. 
He  must  get  fresh  knowledge  from  the  things  discussed. 
We  get  fresh  knowledge  from  anything  either  through  the 
senses  directly,  or  through  the  imagination.  In  speaking,  we 
get  most  of  it  through  the  imagination,  by  making  the 
senses  receive  at  long  range,  the  impressions  they  are  ac- 
customed to  get  at  short  range.  If,  in  getting  our  im- 
pressions, we  do  not  use  the  action  we  are  accustomed  to 
use,  then  one  of  the  strongest  associations  which  our  senses 
know  is  lost.  This  means  that  one  of  the  principal  stimuli 
of  the  senses  is  lost.  The  result  is,  that  the  senses/  now 
acting  only  through  the  imagination,  and  getting,  with  diffi- 
culty, their  impressions  from  absent  things,  cease  to  act. 
Under  these  conditions,  the  speaker  receives  no  fresh  im- 
pressions from  the  things  talked  of,  and,  largely,  because 
he  has  not  employed  the  action  of  purpose  to  get  impres- 
sions. 


284  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE 


Experiments  in  Action  of  Purpose  to  Receive 
Impressions 

The  following  experiments  will  help  you  to  begin  a 
right  use  of  this  form  of  action,  and  to  realize  how  much 
it  can  do  for  you  in  aiding  you  to  get  the  sense-impressions 
you  need  while  speaking. 

1.  For  the  first  experiment,  partly  open  the  door  of  a 
dimly  lighted  room.     Open  the  door  only  a  little  way,  so 
that  the  contents  of  the  room  beyond  can  be  seen  but 
dimly.     Stand  several  feet  from  this  door  and  make  an 
earnest  effort  to  see  even  small  things  within  the  room. 
Assume  that,  for  some  reason,  you  can  go  no  nearer  than 
you  are  to  the  things  you  are  trying  to   see.     Perform 
whatever  acts  are  necessary  to  enable  you  to  get  the  clear- 
est possible  view  of  the  things  looked  at,  without  changing 
your  location — such   acts   as   stepping   one   foot    forward, 
leaning  the  body  forward,  shading  the  eyes,  etc.     When 
these  acts  have  given  you  some  definite  sensations  of  sight, 
then  turn  away  from  the  door,  imagine  that  you  are  again 
trying  to  see  those  small  things  within  the  dim  enclosure 
beyond  the  door,  perform  the  same  acts  as  you  did  before 
when  actually  trying  to   see  more   clearly,  and,   as   these 
things  now  become  more  distinctly  seen  in  imagination,  de- 
scribe your  sense-impressions  to  an  imaginary  friend  be- 
side you. 

2.  In  the  second  experiment,  listen  to  the  low  murmur 
of  voices  some  distance  from  you.    Make  an  earnest  effort 
to  distinguish  the  voices  and  to  catch  the  peculiar  character- 
istics of  each  voice.    As  you  do  so,  perform  whatever  acts 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE        285 

will  aid  you  to  hear  more  distinctly — stepping  nearer  to  the 
sound,  leaning  the  body  forward,  turning  the  head,  putting 
the  hand  to  the  ear,  etc.  After  you  have  done  one  of  these 
things,  test  the  ear  again  to  see  if  the  sound  has  become  any 
more  distinct.  Do  the  same  after  each  of  these  auxiliary 
acts.  Now  turn  away  from  the  actual  voices  and  imagine 
that  you  hear  a  sound  at  some  distance  from  you.  Perform 
the  same  experiment  with  the  same  actions  as  before,  and, 
as  you  do  so,  describe  to  a  friend  supposed  to  be  beside  you 
the  results  of  your  efforts. 

3.  As  a  third  experiment,  place  on  the  table  before  you 
two  pieces  of  goods  of  decidedly  different  textures,  for  ex- 
ample, silk  or  velvet  and  coarse  woollen  goods,  from  which 
distinct  sensations  of  touch  may  be  received.  Take  a  short 
step  forward,  incline  the  body  eagerly  toward  these  goods, 
and  pass  the  hand  over  them  as  delicately  as  possible,  de- 
termined to  receive  the  keenest  possible  impression  from 
touching  first  one  and  then  the  other.  Realize  that  you  are 
doing  this  to  be  able  to  tell  to  a  friend  beside  you  just  how 
these  goods  feel  to  you.  Tell  your  friend  just  how  they  feel. 
If  it  confuses  you,  at  first,  to  have  an  actual  person  beside 
you,  then  have  only  an  imaginary  person  there,  but  tell  your 
impressions,  tell  them  out  loud.  Now  hang  the  goods  in 
a  perpendicular  position.  Step  toward  them,  again  incline 
the  body  eagerly  forward,  and  perform  the  same  experi- 
ment as  you  did  a  moment  before  when  the  things  touched 
were  in  a  horizontal  position.  Now  remove  the  goods  and 
stand  in  the  middle  of  the  room  with  only  imaginary  mate- 
rial before  you.  Feel  the  same  desire  you  felt  before,  to 
sense  the  touch  of  the  goods  which  you  imagine  to  be  be- 
fore you.  Repeat  the  same  two  experiments  performed 


286  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE 

when  the  actual  goods  were  first  on  the  table,  and  then 
hanging  before  you.  Again  describe  your  sense-impressions 
to  a  friend  beside  you. 

Do  not  allow  yourself  to  step  near  to  the  object  on 
which  you  are  experimenting  and  then  drop  into  a  nega- 
tive or  relaxed  position.  Keep  the  entire  body  eagerly 
striving  to  get  a  strong  sense-impression. 

4.  In  the  fourth  experiment,  place  before  you  two 
flowers,  or  perfumes,  of  different  odors.  Step  forward,  in- 
cline the  body  eagerly  toward  one  of  these  objects,  lift  it  to- 
ward your  nose,  and  breathe  in  its  odor  so  slowly  and  sensi- 
tively, that  you  can  describe  that  odor.  Now  do  the  same 
with  the  other  object.  Now  step  away  from  the  objects, 
imagine  that  you  again  perform  the  experiment  with  each 
object,  use  the  same  action  as  you  did  when  the  objects  were 
actually  there,  and,  as  you  do  so,  describe  the  odor  of  each 
to  an  imaginary  friend. 

Keep  the  entire  body  in  a  position  of  eager  expectancy. 
5.  Now  put  the  last  four  experiments  into  one. 
Imagine  yourself  in  some  such  scene  as  a  flower-garden. 
If  you  make  your  scene  a  flower-garden,  step  up  to  cer- 
tain flowers  and  sensitively  touch  the  leaves  and  petals.  As 
you  do  this,  orally  describe  the  impressions  you  get.  Step 
toward  some  flowers,  lean  eagerly  toward  them,  draw  them 
toward  you,  and  sensitively  smell  their  odor,  while  you 
describe  it  orally  to  an  imaginary  friend  beside  you.  Try 
to  get  a  better  view  of  certain  things  difficult  to  see  back 
among  the  shrubs  and  bushes. 

Freely  use  whatever  action  will  help  you  to  get  the 
desired  sense-impressions  and  yet  will  enable  you  to 
maintain  the  commanding  position  of  one  who  is  courte- 


PURPOSE  TO  REPEL  THE  UNDESIRABLE   287 

ously  showing  the  things  observed  to  a  dignified  visitor. 

Describe  orally  what  you  see  half-hidden  in  the  darker 
recesses.  Imagine  the  fine,  shrill,  hardly  audible  sound  of 
some  insect  back  among  the  bushes,  and  use  freely  what- 
ever action  will  help  you  to  catch  this  sound  more  dis- 
tinctly. Describe  the  sense-impressions  you  get  through 
the  sense  of  sound.  Work  this  experiment  up  into  a  three- 
minute  original  description  of  the  sense-impressions  you 
receive. 

If  you  prefer  some  other  scene  than  a  flower-garden,  use 
the  one  you  prefer,  only  be  careful  to: 

Employ  as  many  imaginative  senses  as  possible,  and 
to  use,  freely,  all  the  action  you  would  use  to  aid  your 
senses  if  you  were  actually  examining  things  and  de- 
scribing them,  in  their  presence,  to  a  person  before  whom 
you  must  appear  at  your  best. 

To  influence  an  entire  audience  by  this  scene,  you  must 
be  much  more  eager  than  you  are  accustomed  to  be  when 
you  examine  things  with  no  audience  in  mind. 

II.  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE  TO  REPEL  THE  UNDESIRABLE 
THINGS  DISCUSSED 

In  every-day  life,  when  we  find  anything  that  is  re- 
pulsive or  offensive  to  us,  anything  that  we  think  may 
harm  or  hinder  us,  we  know  that  there  are  but  two  ways 
to  rid  ourselves  of  that  thing.  We  can  either  take  our- 
selves away  from  it  or  put  it  away  from  us.  All  through 
our  lives  we  have  performed  one  or  the  other  of  these  two 
acts  whenever  we  really  wished  to  be  free  from  an  unde- 
sirable thing. 


288  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE 

What  does  this  mean  to  the  speaker?  It  means  that,  if 
he  profits  by  his  experience,  as  every  wise  man  does,  he 
will  act  in  this  same  manner  in  his  speaking.  To  illustrate : 
A  speaker  is  before  us  who  suddenly  draws  himself  up 
and  seems  to  push  something  away  from  him  with  his 
hand  as  he  says:  "That  thing  is  abominable."  Mark  the 
effect  his  action  has  on  us.  We  instantly  feel  greater  con- 
fidence in  the  speaker  for  getting  rid  of  the  thing  he  dis- 
likes, and  we  also  feel  much  more  like  getting  rid  of  that 
thing  ourselves;  for  the  speaker's  action  has  enabled  us 
to  feel  the  inner  nature  of  that  thing  much  more  keenly 
than  mere  words  could  have  done.  Careful  investigation 
will  show  the  student  of  speech,  that  similar  results  always 
follow  such  action  when  it  is  caused  by  honest  motives. 
If  a  speaker  puts  away  from  him  the  base  or  untrue  thing 
talked  about,  in  the  same  manner  as  he  would  put  away 
from  him  an  untrue  person  or  thing  in  his  private  life,  he 
makes  his  speech  much  more  effective  by  the  act. 


Experiments  in  Action  to  Repel  the  Undesirable 

I.  For  the  first  experiment,  let  someone  stand  to  your 
right  front.  Feel  that  this  person  is  insolently  standing 
where  you  have  a  desire,  and  a  right,  to  pass.  Assume 
toward  this  person  an  attitude  of  offended  dignity.  Ap- 
proach him,  and,  in  firm  superiority,  brush  him  aside  with 
your  right  hand.  Repeat  this  experiment  several  times, 
trying  each  time  to  use  less  and  less  effort  and  yet  to  put 
the  person  effectively  away  from  you.  Now  step  away 
from  the  person  who  has  been  opposing  you,  imagine  him 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  ACTION  TO  REPEL  289 

to  be  there,  on  your  right  front,  as  before,  and  perform 
the  same  experiment  on  the  imaginary  person. 

2.  Second  experiment.  Let  someone  stand  before  you 
and  a  little  to  your  left.     Assume  toward  this  person  the 
same  attitude  you  assumed  in  the  last  experiment,  and  brush 
him  away  with  your  left  hand.     Repeat  this  experiment 
several   times   and   then  perform   the   experiment   on   an 
imaginary  person  whom  you  imagine  to  be  standing  just 
as  the  real  person  did. 

In  the  first  and  second  experiments,  in  Action  to  Repel 
the  Undesirable,  the  speaker  has  been  asked  to  assume  an 
aggressive  attitude  and  to  approach  the  undesirable  thing 
or  person  thought  of.  Such  action  is  frequently  demanded 
in  practical  speaking;  but  there  are  also  many  times  when 
the  speaker  should  merely  stand  his  ground  and  repel  the 
undesirable  thing  that  becomes  more  aggressive  and  ap- 
proaches him.  The  next  two  experiments  are  designed  to 
start  the  speaker  in  such  action. 

3.  Third  experiment.  Let  someone  approach  you  from 
your  right  front.    Assume  toward  this  person  a  strong,  im- 
movable, superior  attitude.     When  he  has  pressed  almost 
against  you,  push  him  backward  and  aside,  in  a  firm  but 
dignified  manner.     Repeat  this  experiment  several  times, 
each  time  standing  in  a  more  and  more  firm  position,  so 
that  less  and  less  effort  is  required  to  keep  a  firm  position 
and  to  put  the  person  effectively  away  from  you.     Now 
perform  the  experiment  with  only  an  imaginary  person  ap- 
proaching you  just  as  the  real  person  did.     Feel  the  same 
need  of  firmness  and  control  in  your  action,  as  you  found 
necessary  when  you  brushed  aside  the  real  person. 

4.  Fourth    experiment.  Let    a    person    approach    you 


290  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE 

from  your  left  front.  Assume  toward  this  person  the  same 
attitude  you  assumed  in  Experiment  3,  and  brush  the  per- 
son aside  with  your  left  hand.  Repeat  this  experiment 
until  you: 

Stand  so  firmly  that  you  neither  seem  to  be  jostled  from 
your  position  nor  to  use  all  your  strength  in  the  effort. 

When  you  have  acquired  this  firmness  and  ease  and 
command,  then  perform  the  experiment  with  only  an 
imaginary  person  approaching  you. 

In  all  four  of  these  experiments,  be  careful  to  push  the 
person  whom  you  wish  to  repel,  before  he  is  so  close  to 
you  that  it  is  necessary  to  claw  him  around  to  your  side 
and  back.  To  show  mastery  and  power  in  the  situation, 
requires  that  the  person  or  thing  which  the  speaker  wishes 
to  repel,  should  be  put  away  to  the  side  front.  You  are 
trying  to  give  the  impression  that  it  requires  no  great 
effort  for  you  to  repel  the  person  causing  your  action. 

This  last  point  is  of  decided  importance  to  the  speaker. 
You  have  observed  what  a  bad  effect  a  singer  produces  if, 
in  trying  to  sing  a  very  high  note,  he  causes  his  voice  to 
"break,"  or  causes  the  audience  to  feel  that  he  has  used 
absolutely  all  his  power  to  sing  that  note.  The  same  law 
is  found  effective  both  in  the  voice  and  the  action  of  the 
speaker. 

To  retain  the  respect  and  confidence  of  the  audience, 
the  speaker  must  always  seem  to  have  much  more  power 
than  he  is  using  and  yet  must  seem  to  master  the  thing 
he  undertakes. 

5.  Fifth  experiment.  Step  up  to  hanging  curtains.  As- 
sume that  someone  has  placed  these  curtains  here  to  prevent 
you  from  seeing  something  beyond  the  curtains.  Feel  that 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  ACTION  TO  REPEL  29 1 

you  must  see  this  thing  quickly.  That  you  may  do  so,  brush 
the  right  curtain  aside  with  your  right  hand,  then  the  left 
curtain  with  your  left  hand,  then  brush  them  to  right  and 
left  with  both  hands  at  once.  Now  turn  away  from  the  cur- 
tains, imagine  that  they  are  before  you,  assume  the  same 
attitude  as  before,  and  repeat  the  whole  experiment. 

When  these  five  experiments  have  been  repeated  until 
you  can  fully  realize  the  presence  of  the  imaginary  objects 
upon  which  you  act,  and  can  use,  upon  these  imaginary 
objects,  action  as  spontaneous,  as  strong,  and  as  free  as 
you  used  on  the  actual  objects,  you  are  then  ready  to  use 
these  actions  in  practical  speaking. 

6.  Sixth  experiment.  To  apply  these  experiments  in  a 
practical  speech,  think  of  things  you  see  as  a  student,  which 
are  most  repellent  to  you,  things  which  are  base  or  cow- 
ardly or  deceitful  or  dishonest  or  devoid  of  those  ideals 
which  you  feel  that  a  student  should  have.  They  may  be 
such  things  a  lack  of  true  friendship,  snobbishness,  unkind- 
ness  toward  the  less  fortunate,  laziness,  loitering,  gambling, 
drinking,  dishonesty  in  voting,  cheating  in  examinations. 
Make  a  brief  outline  of  such  undesirable  practices  as  you 
have  observed.  With  this  outline  before  you,  contemplate 
how  the  things  you  have  placed  in  your  outline  are  affecting 
your  life  and  the  lives  of  your  associates,  until  you  feel  that 
you  cannot  speak  of  these  things  without  having  a  strong 
desire  to  cast  them  from  you,  as  vigorously  as  you  cast 
away  the  persons  and  things  in  the  former  experiments. 

Now  either  imagine  that  you  are  conversing  with  some 
of  the  students  who  are  guilty  of  promoting  the  ideas  and 
practices  which  are  so  objectionable  to  you,  and  that  you 
are  telling  them  what  you  think  of  their  schemes;  or 


292  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE 

imagine  that  you  are  before  your  class,  proposing  means 
by  which  to  check  these  undesirable  tendencies.  In  either 
case,  feel  that  the  undesirable  things  you  discuss  are  so 
personally  objectionable  to  you  that  you  personally  repel 
them  whenever  you  mention  them.  Develop  your  ideas 
into  a  two-minute  or  a  three-minute  speech. 

Let  your  chief  aim  in  this  experiment,  be  to  find  as  much 
opportunity  as  possible,  to  use,  in  a  natural  and  unaffected 
way,  action  to  repel  the  undesirable.  And  then  see  that  you 
use  such  action  wherever  it  is  needed. 


III.  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE  TO  CONQUER  THE  OPPOSING 

Sometimes  an  undesirable  thing  is  of  such  a  nature  that 
we  do  not  dare  merely  to  repel  it.  We  do  not  dare  to 
brush  it  aside  and  leave  it  to  bother  us  again.  We  prefer 
rather  to  lay  hold  on  that  thing  and  conquer  it  once  for 
all.  Whenever  we  have  a  strong  and  definite  determination 
to  accomplish  something,  we  then  feel  like  conquering  and 
putting  down  everything  that  tries  to  oppose  us  in  that 
effort.  The  stronger  our  purpose,  the  stronger  is  this 
desire.  When  a  leader  is  leading  masses  of  men  in  the 
accomplishment  of  a  purpose,  he  feels  called  upon  to  bring 
all  his  forces  to  bear  on  anything  that  opposes  him.  A 
speaker  is  a  leader,  leading  masses  of  men  in  the  accom- 
plishment of  a  purpose. 

The  speaker  must  conquer  the  thing  that  opposes  his 
purpose.  He  must  show  his  audience  that  he  is  con- 
quering for  them,  that  he  is  showing  them  how  to  put 
down  the  things  which  would  mar  their  happiness. 

He  certainly  cannot  do  this,  if  his  body  remain  passive 


EXPERIMENTS — PURPOSE  TO  CONQUER       293 

ami  inactive.  He  must  either  ( i )  push  the  opposing  thing 
before  him  as  he  would  push  some  material  thing  forward ; 
or  (2)  he  must  take  up  the  opposing  as  a  burden  and  bear 
it  triumphantly  forward;  or  (3)  he  must  strike  down  the 
opposing  thing.  Such  action,  performed  simply,  sincerely, 
and  in  place,  will  make  the  speech  vastly  more  effective  and 
the  speaker  more  worthy  to  be  followed  as  a  leader. 

To  help  the  intending  speaker  to  gain  this  attitude  and  to 
start  the  thorough  freedom  in  this  form  of  action,  which 
effective  speaking  demands,  we  have  outlined  the  following : 

Experiments  in  Action  of  Purpose  to  Conquer  the 
Opposing 

In  your  attempt  to  develop  skill  and  ability  in  this  form 
of  action,  the  fundamental  principle  stated  above  (pp. 
274-275)  will  be  found  to  have  especial  force.  You  will 
find  it  impossible  to  realize  full  success  in  such  action,  if 
you  do  not  first  bring  your  action  to  bear  on  actual,  mate- 
rial things  the  opposition  of  which  you  attempt  to  master. 

I.  For  the  first  experiment,  stand  near  to  a  large,  heavy 
piece  of  furniture,  or  to  a  large,  heavy  box.  Imagine  that 
you  are  leading  a  company  of  people  along  a  pathway, 
that  the  object  before  you  opposes  your  progress,  and 
that,  for  the  sake  of  those  who  follow  you,  as  well  as  for 
your  own,  you  must  remove  the  opposition  of  the  thing 
before  you  by  putting  your  hands  against  it  and  pushing 
it — hurling  it  from  the  pathway.  Repeat  this  experiment 
several  times.  Each  time  you  push  the  heavy  object  before 
you,  take  greater  pleasure  in  your  ability  to  remove  this 
thing  from  the  path  of  those  who  follow  you.  Realize 


294  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE 

how  your  strength  grows  with  your  delight  in  doing  this 
for  others,  until  you  are  finally  able  to  send  the  oppos- 
ing thing  before  you  with  a  mighty  sweep.  When  you 
have  gained  this  ease  and  power  in  the  experiment,  then 
step  away  from  the  object,  imagine  it  to  be  before  you, 
assume  the  same  strong  attitude  toward  it  as  you  had  before, 
and  push  it  exactly  as  if  it  were  there. 

Realize  that,  to  make  such  action  fully  effective  in  speak- 
ing, you  must  make  it  suggest  two  things : 

(1)  It  must  suggest  that  it  requires   great  force  to 
overcome  the  thing  with  which  you  are  coping. 

(2)  It  must  suggest  that  you  have  much  more  strength 
still  in  reserve. 

2.  Second  experiment.  Place  before  you  a  small  table 
or  bench  loaded  with  books  or  other  things  of  like  weight. 
Imagine,  as  in  the  last  experiment,  that  you  are  leading  a 
company  of  people  and  that  this  object  is  in  your  way  and 
must  be  removed.  Imagine  that,  for  some  reason,  this  object 
cannot  be  pushed  forward,  hence  you  must  place  your  arms 
under  it,  lift  it,  and  carry  it  forward.  Let  it  be  so  heavy  that 
you  must  throw  almost  your  whole  power  into  the  effort, 
yet  feel  the  task  growing  easier  and  easier  each  time  you 
perform  the  experiment,  because  you  take  greater  delight 
in  carrying  this  burden  for  those  whom  you  are  leading. 
When  you  have  reached  the  point  where  you  can  scoop 
the  article  up  and,  with  a  powerful  sweep,  send  it  for- 
ward, then  perform  the  same  experiment  upon  an 
imaginary  burden. 

Before  the  next  experiment,  that  of  striking  down  the 
opposing,  the  intending  speaker  should  get  a  clear  con- 
ception of  the  principle  on  which  the  strength  of  a  blow 


EXPERIMENTS — PURPOSE  TO  CONQUER   295 

depends,  (i)  The  strength  of  the  arm  resides  almost  wholly 
in  the  muscles  of  the  shoulder  and  the  upper  arm.  There- 
fore, to  give  a  blow  that  will  crush  the  opposing,  raise  the 
upper  arm  and  elbow  high,  then  bring  them  down  quickly 
and  strongly  as  the  arm  unfolds  in  the  stroke.  (2)  To  give 
the  strongest  possible  stroke  with  the  hand  and,  at  the 
same  time,  to  preserve  the  hand  from  injury,  clench  the 
hand  firmly  and  bring  the  flat  surface  formed  by  the  first 
joint  of  the  clenched  fingers,  flat  against  the  surface  to 
be  struck.  If  these  two  laws  are  not  observed,  the  move- 
ment will  be  awkward  or  weak  and  effeminate  (or  all  three) 
and  the  effect  of  conquering  a  strong  force  will  be  entirely 
lost. 

3.  Third  experiment.  When  you  have  put  these  two 
laws,  set  forth  in  the  last  paragraph,  into  practice  until  you 
can  make  a  strong,  free,  and  effective  stroke  with  the  whole 
arm,  set  on  end  some  large  book  (for  example,  an  un- 
abridged dictionary)  on  something  as  high  as  your  shoulder. 
Assume  that  this  book  is  something,  or  someone,  that  in- 
solently opposes  you  and  must  be  struck  down.  Step  toward 
it  and  strike  it  a  firm  blow.  Repeat  this  experiment  until  you 
can  give  the  effect  of  striking  a  blow  of  great  power  and  yet 
keep  much  of  your  strength  in  reserve.  Now  place  the  large 
book  on  the  table  where  you  can  strike  downward  upon  its 
top  surface.  Assume  that  it  is  a  force  that  is  insolently  rising 
to  oppose  you  and  that  it  must  be  struck  down — crushed 
to  the  earth.  Step  toward  it  and  strike  it  down.  Repeat 
this  experiment  until  your  downward  stroke  is  as  free  and 
strong  as  the  one  straight  from  the  shoulder.  Perform 
both  these  experiments  with  first  one  hand  and  then  the 
pther  until  the  hands  can  strike  equally  well,  then  repeat 


296  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE 

both  experiments  with  only  imaginary  objects  to  be  struck, 

The  alert  student  has  already  realized  that  the  things 
he  has  been  doing  in  the  last  three  experiments,  are  the 
same  kind  of  things  he  will  be  called  upon  to  do  in  his 
practical  speaking  whenever  he  speaks  of  things  which 
he  actually  wishes  to  see  overcome.  It  should  constantly 
be  borne  in  mind,  that: 

Such  action  is  effective  in  speaking  only  when  the 
speaker  imagines  himself  actually  handling  material 
things  which  he  would  have  to  handle  if  he  should  lead 
his  audience  into  actual  contact  with  the  things  about 
which  he  is  speaking. 

There  is  a  rule  for  action,  stated  in  several  of  the  text- 
books :  "Literal  action  should  never  be  used  for  figurative 
language."  From  the  foregoing  discussions  and  experi- 
ments, the  psychological  meaning  of  this  rule  should  now 
be  clear. 

Neither  the  form  of  action  we  are  now  studying  nor 
any  other  form,  is  ever  demanded  when  we  are  speaking 
of  merely  figurative  things,  unless  the  figure  causes  the 
speaker  to  imagine  himself  in  the  actual  presence  of  a 
single  concrete  thing,  acting  upon  that  thing. 

Furthermore,  it  is  apparent  that  action  as  extremely 
strong  as  the  form  of  action  we  are  now  considering, 
should  be  used  seldom. 

4.  Fourth  experiment.  With  these  principles  in  mind, 
perform  a  fourth  experiment,  in  which  you  apply  experi- 
ments i,  2,  and  3  to  practical  speaking.  To  do  so,  imagine 
.  that  you  are  leading  and  urging  others  to  conquer  the  oppos- 
ing, as  you  speak  the  following  words.  The  first  words  we 


TO  LET  THE  AUDIENCE  EXAMINE  2Q7 

quote  are  those  of  Ulysses,  as  Tennyson  has  the  wonderful 
old  warrior  speak,  in  his  poem  Ulysses  (lines  56-70). 

Come,  my  friends,  'tis  not  too  late  to  seek  a  newer  world. 
Push  off,  and,  sitting  well  in  order,  smite  the  sounding  furrows ; 
for  my  purpose  holds  to  sail  beyond  the  sunset,  and  the  baths 
of  all  the  western  stars,  until  I  die.  It  may  be  that  the  gulfs 
will  wash  us  down ;  it  may  be  we  shall  touch  the  Happy  Isles, 
and  see  the  great  Achilles,  whom  we  knew.  Tho'  much  is 
taken,  much  abides;  and  tho'  we  are  not  now  that  strength 
which,  in  old  days,  moved  earth  and  heaven,  that  which  we 
are,  we  are — one  equal  temper  of  heroic  hearts,  made  weak 
by  time  and  fate,  but  strong  in  will  to  strive,  to  seek,  to  find, 
and  not  to  yield. 

To  impersonate  Ulysses,  you  must  realize  that  you  and 
your  companions  are  very  old;  but  that  your  mind  is  so 
filled  with  thoughts  of  the  great  deeds  of  your  youth,  that 
you  become  strong  again  in  your  determination  that  you 
and  your  companions  shall  overcome  old  age  and  go  forth 
to  conquer  unknown  seas  and  unknown  lands. 

Impersonate  also  the  character  of  Markos  Bozarris,  the 
noted  Greek  patriot,  as  he  speaks  the  following  words  to 
his  soldiers  as  they  make  a  surprise  attack  on  the  Turks 
at  night  (words  taken  from  Marco  Bozarris,  by  Fitz-Green 
Halleck)  : 

Strike ! — till  the  last  arm'd  foe  expires ;  Strike !  for  your 
altars  and  your  fires ;  Strike ! — for  the  green  graves  of  your 
sires ;  God  and  your  native  land  1 


IV.   ACTION    OF    PURPOSE    TO    LET    THE    AUDIENCE 
EXAMINE  THE  THING  DISCUSSED 

Sometimes  we  can  present  a  part  of  our  message  to  an 
audience,  best  by  simply  letting  the  audience  examine  for 


2Q8  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE 

themselves  the  things  discussed.  This  is  almost  always  the 
case  when  we  wish  those  who  hear  us,  simply  to  pass 
judgment  on  the  thing  or  the  fact  which  we  present.  At 
such  times,  what  is  more  natural  than  for  the  one  speaking 
to  turn  the  eye  of  the  listener,  to  the  thing  spoken  of,  as 
much  as  to  say :  "There  it  is.  Judge  for  yourself."  Care- 
ful observation  of  this  kind  of  action  reveals  to  us  three 
distinct  forms  in  which  such  action  is  made. 

1.  Notice  that   child  talking  to   another.     Suddenly  he 
looks  intently  off  to  one  side   for  a  moment.     Now  he 
looks  into  the  face  of  the  other  child  and  raises  his  fore- 
finger   (with  all  the  other  fingers   closed)    almost  to  the 
eye  of  the  other  child,  as  if  to  make  him  look  at  his  finger. 
Now  he  moves  that  finger  slowly,  as  if  to  lead  the  eye  of 
the  other  child,  until  it  points  straight  at  the  spot  he  looked 
at  so  intently.     Could  anything  be  clearer  than  the  cause 
of  that  action?    The  child  was  moved  by  a  desire  to  have 
the  other  child  examine  one  certain,  definite  spot.     This 
action  is  the  first  of  the  three  forms.     It  is  called,  in  the 
books,  the  Index  Gesture. 

We  always  use  the  Index  Gesture  when  we  are  moved, 
as  that  child  was  moved,  to  let  the  audience  examine 
one  definite  spot. 

2.  Here  is  a  speaker  before  us  who  unfolds  his  hand 
toward  the  audience  precisely  as  if  he  were  giving  to  some- 
one a  handful  of  buttons  to  let  him  examine  them.     Now 
he  opens  his  whole  arm  and  hand  as  if  to  unfold  an  arm- 
ful of  roses  and  let  them  lie  there  for  inspection.    Now  he 
opens  his  arm  and  hand  with  a  wide  sweep  to  the  side, 
as  if,  by  some  magic,  he  were  unfolding  a  whole  landscape 
and  calling  the  attention  of  the  audience  to  it.     When  we 


TO  LET  THE  AUDIENCE  EXAMINE  2Q9 

study  these  actions,  we  find  that  the  first  is  caused  by  a 
desire  to  give  something  directly  to  the  audience,  to  let 
them  inspect  it.  The  second  is  caused  by  a  desire  to 
unfold,  to  the  audience,  something  nearby  but  occupying 
more  space  than  a  small  definite  spot.  The  third  is  caused 
by  a  desire  to  disclose  something  larger  and  at  a  greater 
distance,  and  to  cause  the  eye  and  mind  of  the  audience 
to  sweep  over  the  whole  thing  at  once.  These  gestures 
represent  the  second  form  of  this  kind  of  action,  and  are 
called  the  Unfolding  Gesture. 

3.  Now  we  see  a  speaker's  eye  glisten  as  it  sweeps  over 
a  display  of  beautiful  colors,  which  he  imagines  before  him. 
Now  the  speaker  turns  his  eye  to  the  audience,  and,  as  he 
does  so,  he  raises  his  hand  before  the  eyes  of  the  audience 
and  then  moves  it  out  over  the  scene  before  his  mind, 
leading  the  eyes  of  the  audience  with  it.  This  time,  it  is  not 
one  single  finger  leading  to  one  small  point,  as  we  saw 
in  the  gesture  of  the  child  a  while  ago.  The  speaker's 
whole  hand  is  open,  with  the  sensitive  part  of  the  fingers 
toward  the  scene  observed.  It  is  a  very  effective  gesture. 
It  turns  our  eyes  to  the  scene  that  we  may  judge  for 
ourselves ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  seems  to  say :  "You  can't 
help  feeling  the  fine  touch  of  those  beautiful  colors."  The 
speaker's  whole  expression  is  the  same  as  he  would  have 
if  he  had  just  passsed  his  hand  over  the  things  before  his 
mind,  and  had  found  their  texture  so  pleasing  that  he 
now  wishes  us,  the  audience,  to  touch  those  things  with 
him.  This  is  the  third  form  of  the  action  to  let  the  audience 
examine  the  thing  discussed.  It  is  called  the  Esthetic 
Gesture  or  the  Gesture  of  Fine  Feeling.  It  is  caused  by 
a  desire  to  let  the  audience  examine  something  beautiful 


300  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE 

or  delicate  or  tender,  and  to  lead  the  listener  in  examining 
that  thing. 

You  will  see  that  this  kind  of  action,  Action  To  Let  the 
Audience  Examine  the  Thing  Discussed,  in  its  three  forms, 
is  more  frequently  used  in  speaking  than  most  of  the 
other  forms  of  action.  It  is  the  action  a  speaker  employs 
whenever  he  locates  anything  for  the  audience,  and  when- 
ever he  gives  anything  (actually  or  imaginatively)  to  the 
audience,  and  whenever  he  appeals  to  the  audience  to  give 
him  anything. 

To  begin  your  preparation  for  employing  this  kind  of 
action  in  its  wide  field  of  usefulness,  thoroughly  perform 
the  following: 


Experiments  in  Action  of  Purpose  to  Let  the  Audience 
Examine  the  Thing  Discussed 

The  first  experiments  outlined  are  for  the  development  of 
Action  of  Pointing  Out  a  Small  Object. 

In  these  experiments,  an  effort  has  been  made  to  de- 
velop, simultaneously,  in  the  speaker,  three  things:  direct- 
ness, gracefulness,  and  climax.  Directness  will  result  from 
the  speaker's  fixing  his  mind  on  the  thing  pointed  out  and 
on  the  mind  of  the  one  to  whom  he  points  out  that  thing,  and 
from  the  speaker's  determination  to  bring  the  mind  of  the 
observer  to  bear  on  the  thing  pointed  out.  Gracefulness 
will  result  from  the  speaker's  making  free  use  of  his  own 
hand,  first  to  come  to  the  eye  of  the  observer,  to  serve 
as  a  guide,  and  then  to  lead  the  eye  of  the  observer  to  the 
thing  pointed  out.  (There  is  a  superficial  rule  in  many 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  LET  AUDIENCE  EXAMINE   30 1 

of  the  books  on  action,  that,  in  such  action  as  pointing  out 
things,  the  hand  should  never  rise,  stiffly,  straight  out 
from  the  body,  but  should  swing  inward  so  as  to  form  a 
curved  line.  From  what  we  have  just  said,  the  psycholog- 
ical reason  for  this  rule  should  appear.)  To  start  the  in- 
tending speaker  in  the  work  of  making  his  action  reach 
a  climax,  we  have  arranged  each  simple  experiment,  in 
pointing  out  objects,  in  a  series  of  three  actions.  In  Action 
of  Symbolism  (p.  278)  we  stated  the  principle  that,  when- 
ever the  speaker  uses  a  series  of  similar  actions  of  the 
hand,  the  hand  should  move  outward,  to  give  the  effect  of 
expansion,  growth,  climax. 

i.  For  the  first  experiment  in  pointing  out  small  objects, 
let  someone  stand  before  you  and  a  little  to  your  left. 
Select  some  very  small  object  before  and  a  little  to  your 
right.  Fix  that  spot  in  mind.  Realize  how  difficult  it  will 
be  to  cause  the  friend  standing  beside  you  to  see  that  spot 
and  to  see  no  other.  Determine  to  lead  the  eye  of  this 
friend  to  this  exact  spot.  With  this  determination  in  mind, 
let  the  index  finger  of  your  right  hand  go  up  to  the  eye 
of  your  friend  at  your  left,  as  a  willing,  kindly  guide. 
Then  let  your  finger  move  out  slowly  toward  the  spot  you 
wish  to  point  out,  till  it  points  directly  at  it.  While  you  do 
this,  describe  the  object  pointed  out,  so  that  your  words 
may  aid  your  action  and  your  action  may  aid  your  words, 
in  leading  your  friend's  eye  and  mind  to  that  object.  Now 
select  another  small  object  several  feet  farther  to  your 
right,  and  treat  this  object  in  exactly  the  same  manner. 
When  you  have  made  your  friend  see  it,  select  a  third 
object  at  the  extreme  right  side  of  the  room,  and  treat  it 
as  you  have  done  the  other  two. 


3O2  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE 

In  all  these  efforts  to  point  out  something  for  someone 
to  examine: 

Keep  a  strong  feeling  that  your  mind  is  leading  the 
mind  of  the  observer  even  more  than  your  finger  is 
leading  his  eye. 

2.  Second  experiment.    Place  the  observer  on  your  right 
front.    Choose  a  small  spot  to  your  left  front,  and  determine 
to  point  this  out  as  definitely  as  you  did  the  spots  to  your 
right.     Let  the  index  finger  of  your  left  hand  come  up 
before  your  friend's  eye,  and  lead  his  eye  as  carefully  and 
as  directly  as  possible.     While  you  do  this,  describe  the 
object  pointed  out.     When  you  are  sure  that  your  action 
and  words  have  led  the  eye  and  mind  of  the  observer  to  the 
exact  spot,  then  point  out  in  the  same  manner  another  spot 
farther  to  the  left,  and  then  a  third  at  the  extreme  left  of 
the  room. 

3.  Third  experiment.     Now  imagine  yourself  before  an 
audience.     See  a  small  object,  real  or  imaginary,  some  dis- 
tance before  you  and  a  little  to  your  right,  on  the  street  or 
landscape.     See  something  in  this  object  which  strikingly 
illustrates  a  point  in  your  discussion,  and,  hence,  which  you 
wish  to  point  out  to  your  audience.    Fix  your  mind  on  this 
object  for  a  brief  moment,  then  say  quickly  to  your  audi- 
ence :    "Look  at  this !"    As  you  say  this,  look  into  the  eyes 
of  your  audience,  bring  the  index  finger  of  your  right  hand 
before  their  eyes,  just  as  you  did  before  the  eyes  of  your 
friend  in  the  last  experiment,  and  lead  their  eyes  straight  to 
the  thing  to  which  you  wish  to  turn  their  minds.    While  you 
are  pointing  it  out,  tell  the  audience  just  what  it  is  you 
wish  them  to  see.     When  you  have  done  this,   feel  the 
gratification  of  discovering  a  still  better  illustration  of  your 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  LET  AUDIENCE  EXAMINE   303 

subject,  in  another  small  object  farther  to  your  right. 
Treat  it  in  the  same  manner.  Then  reach  a  climax  in  your 
action,  by  discovering  the  best  illustration  of  all  in  a  third 
small  object  on  your  extreme  right.  Now  repeat  this  en- 
tire experiment,  this  time  discovering  the  first  object  you 
wish  to  point  out,  on  your  left  front,  the  second  farther 
to  your  left,  and  the  third  on  your  extreme  left. 

Repeat  each  of  these  experiments  in  pointing,  until  your 
action  becomes  a  part  of  your  thinking,  and  until  your 
action  reaches  a  true  climax  by  growing  quicker,  more 
free,  more  strong,  and  more  sweeping  with  each  succeeding 
stroke  in  the  series.  Always  desire,  most  of  all,  to  show 
the  thing  pointed  out,  to  those  of  your  audience  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  you  from  that  thing.  Unless  you  do  this, 
you  will  seem  to  show  that  thing  only  to  those  of  your 
audience  who  are  nearest  to  it.  If  you  follow  this  law, 
your  guiding  finger  passes  before  every  eye  in  the  audience 
and  leads  all  alike. 

The  next  experiments  below,  4,  5,  6,  and  7,  are  devoted 
to  the  second  form  of  Action  of  Purpose  to  Let  the  Audi- 
ence Examine  the  Things  Discussed,  namely, 

Action  of  Unfolding  Objects  for  the  Audience  to  Examine. 

4.  Fourth  experiment.  Place  a  handful  of  small  objects 
that  can  be  quickly  scooped  up  in  the  hand,  for  example, 
small  beans,  or  round  buttons,  on  the  table  before  you. 
Take  these  up  and  hand  them  to  some  one  standing  to  your 
right  front.  Replace  them  on  the  table,  then  take  them  up 
and  hand  them  to  someone  to  your  left  front.  Once  more 
place  them  on  the  table,  take  part  of  them  in  each  hand,  and 


304  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE 

give  part  of  them  to  a  person  standing  to  your  right  front 
and  part  of  them  to  another  person  standing  to  your  left 
front.  Hand  them  to  both  these  persons  at  once.  When  you 
have  performed  all  three  of  these  experiments  until  you  can 
catch  these  small  objects  up  in  a  twinkling,  and  hand  them 
out  for  inspection,  easily  and  gracefully,  then  step  away 
from  the  table  and  repeat  the  experiments,  imagining  that 
the  table  is  there,  and  handing  out  for  inspection  imaginary 
objects.  Be  prepared  to  perform  all  these  experiments, 
both  with  and  without  the  actual  objects. 

5.  Fifth  experiment.  Stand  before  an  imaginary  audi- 
ence. Feel  that  you  have  just  made  a  certain  statement, 
when  you  pause  a  moment,  and  then  say :  "I  give  you  this 
thought  for  your  consideration."  Note  how  you  can  say 
this  indifferently  and  have  no  impulse  to  action.  Note  also, 
that  the  instant  you  really  wish  to  give  that  thought  to  the 
audience  and  wish  them  to  take  it,  you  feel  an  impulse  to 
unfold  your  hand  toward  your  hearers,  as  if  it  contained  the 
thought  you  wish  to  give  to  the  audience,  just  as  your  hand 
contained  the  small  objects  in  the  last  experiment.  After 
letting  your  imaginary  audience  consider  the  'thought  for 
a  few  moments,  ask  them:  "Isn't  that  true?"  Note  again 
here,  how  you  can  say  this  in  a  manner  devoid  of  interest 
or  feeling  toward  the  audience,  and  have  no  impulse  to 
use  action.  But  note  also,  that  the  instant  you  are  filled 
with  interest  and  earnestly  desire  your  audience  to  think 
as  you  do  about  the  thing  considered,  that  instant  you  feel 
an  impulse  to  unfold  your  hand  again  to  the  audience,  as 
if  to  lay  the  thing  thought  of,  on  your  palm,  before  their 
eyes,  to  let  them  see  and  be  convinced. 

The  alert  student  will  realize  from  this  last,  double  ex- 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  LET  AUDIENCE  EXAMINE   305 

periment,  that  this  is  one  of  the  best  possible  tests  of  the 
relation  between  speaker  and  audience.  If  that  relation 
is  as  close  as  it  should  be,  then  whenever  the  speaker  has 
anything  to  which  he  wishes  the  audience  to  give  its  special 
and  continued  consideration,  for  a  moment,  (whether  the 
speaker  present  that  idea  as  a  statement  or  a  question),  the 
speaker  has  an  impulse  to  hand  out,  to  the  audience,  that 
thing  that  they  may  inspect  it.  If  the  speaker  does  not 
have  an  impulse  to  "hand  out,"  for  the  inspection  of  the 
audience,  anything  which  he  is  urging  them  to  consider, 
it  means  that  the  personal  relation  between  him  and  his 
audience  is  not  what  it  should  be.  It  means,  also,  that  the 
things  about  which  the  speaker  is  talking,  are  not  real 
enough  to  him  and  that  they  do  not  mean  enough  to  hint. 
For  these  reasons  the  student  of  speech  should  perform 
such  experiments  as  the  last  one  every  day  until  such  ac- 
tion becomes  a  veritable  part  of  his  thinking. 

6.  Sixth  experiment.  Take  an  armful  of  clothing,  or 
similar  articles,  walk  to  the  side  of  a  large  table  or  a  bed, 
and,  with  one  sweep  of  the  arm,  unfold  all  these  and  spread 
them  out  for  the  inspection  of  a  friend  before  you.  As  you 
do  so,  say :  "There  they  all  are."  Do  this  with  first  one  arm 
then  with  the  other.  Then  do  it  with  both  arms  at  once,  un- 
folding two  armfuls  for  inspection.  Now  step  away  from 
these  things,  imagine  that  you  again  have  them,  and  unfold 
the  imaginative  things  in  the  same  manner.  Be  careful  in 
this  last  effort,  to  imagine  real  things  which  you  wish  to  dis- 
play, have  a  definite  reason  in  mind  for  showing  the 
things,  and  watch  the  imaginary  friend  to  see  if  the  dis- 
play has  the  effect  on  him  that  you  wished  it  to  have.  Re- 
member also  that  your  effort  should  be,  not  to  cause  the 


3O6  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE 

observer  to  note  this  or  that  piece  in  the  display,  but  to 
take  it  all  in  at  one  sweep  of  the  mind  and  eye.  Be  pre- 
pared to  perform  these  experiments  before  the  class,  both 
with  real  and  with  imaginary  articles. 

7.  Seventh  experiment.  Stand  before  an  imaginary 
audience.  Talk  to  them,  briefly,  of  some  attractive  display 
you  have  seen  where  the  things  exhibited  covered  a  number 
of  square  yards.  Imagine  that  you  are  now  standing  in  the 
presence  of  this  exhibit,  and  be  moved  by  a  desire  to  have 
your  audience  see  it  as  you  see  it.  Desire  not  to  show  them 
single  or  particular  things  in  the  display,  but  rather  the  full- 
ness, the  completeness,  or  the  richness  of  one  whole  section 
or  unit  of  the  exhibit  at  once.  Notice  how,  the  instant  you 
become  filled  with  a  strong  desire  to  have  your  audience 
"take  in,"  at  a  glance,  the  whole  section  you  have  in  mind, 
you  have  an  impulse  to  unfold  the  arm  in  the  direction 
of  those  things,  as  if  you  were  actually  laying  them  there 
for  inspection.  Notice,  too,  that  the  more  real  each  unit 
becomes  to  you  and  the  more  earnest  your  desire  to  have 
the  audience  see  and  realize  the  whole  unit,  the  stronger 
becomes  this  impulse.  Let  the  imaginary  exhibition  which 
you  describe  be  made  up  of  a  number  of  these  units  or 
groups  of  things.  See  one  group  on  your  right,  another 
on  your  left,  another  spreading  out  before  you  both  to 
right  and  left,  and  so  on.  Work  up  your  description  of 
these  different  sections  and  present  your  description  in 
words  and  action  before  the  class. 

The  student  will  realize,  from  experiments  6  and  7,  that 
whenever  he  wishes  the  audience  to  turn  its  attention  to  a 
general  group  of  things,  or  to  a  section  of  a  room  or  of 


ACTION   OF   PICTURING   OBJECTS  307 

a  landscape,  containing  many  things,  he  should  have  an 
impulse  to  act  as  if  he  were  unfolding  all  that  to  the  view 
of  the  audience. 

The  next  experiments  below,  8  and  9,  are  devoted  to  the 
third  form  of  Action  of  Purpose  to  Let  the  Audience  Ex- 
amine the  Things  Discussed,  namely, 

Action  of  Picturing  Objects  to  the  Audience 

8.  For  the  eighth  experiment,  repeat  experiment  3  from 
page  285.    This  time  pay  more  attention  to  the  imaginative 
side  of  the  experiment,  and  also  make  a  greater  effort  to 
impress  upon  the  mind  of  the  observer  the  sense-impres- 
sions you  receive. 

9.  Ninth  experiment.     Stand  before  an  imaginary  audi- 
ence.    Imagine  (or  actually  look  at)  a  beautiful  landscape 
or  a  beautiful  sunset.    Describe  this  scene  before  you,  and 
as  you  do  so,  try  to  lead  the  "mind's  eye"  of  your  audience 
out  over  that  scene.    Notice  how,  when  you  hold  your  mind 
long  enough  on  any  one  part  of  that  scene,  to  get  such  a 
strong  impression  of  its  beauty  that  you  are  filled  with  a 
desire  to  have  your  audience  see  and  feel  that  beauty  with 
you,  then  you  have  an  impulse  to  stretch  forth  the  hand  and 
try  to  feel  the  touch  of  that  beauty  while  you  describe  it. 
When  you  have  found  this  impulse,  develop  it  and  build 
your  description  out  of  it.     Try  to  liken  the  colors  which 
you  imagine  before  you,   in  the  scene  described,   to  the 
touch  of  things  you  have  known.     Give  this  description 
before  the  class. 

From  the  last  two  experiments,  it  is  easy  to  see  that 
the  Esthetic  Gesture  is  demanded  less  often  than  many  of 


308  ACTION  OF  PURPOSE 

the  other  forms  of  action.  We  use  it  when  we  are  either 
leading  the  mind  of  the  listener  over  a  scene  and  at  the 
same  time  trying  to  get  the  listener  to  appreciate,  with  us, 
the  feeling  we  get  from  imagining  the  touch  of  the  things 
we  describe ;  or  when  we  wish  the  listener's  mind  to  follow 
moving  objects,  or  to  go  out  feelingfully  to  single  objects. 
Under  these  conditions  nothing  can  take  its  place. 

10.  Tenth  experiment.  You  have  now  performed  ex- 
periments in  all  three  forms  of  Action  to  Let  the  Audience 
Examine  Objects,  namely,  experiments  in  Pointing  Out,  in 
Unfolding,  and  in  Picturing.  Now  employ,  in  practical 
speaking,  all  these  nine  experiments.  To  do  so,  prepare  a 
description,  two  or  three  minutes  in  length,  of  some  scene 
containing  a  series  of  small  objects  which  you  can  point  out, 
also  objects  of  such  extent  that  you  must  unfold  them  to  the 
view  of  the  audience,  and  objects  of  such  beauty  that  you 
must  picture  them  to  the  audience,  as  if  your  fingers  were 
touching  them  and  sensing  their  delicate  beauty.  As  in  all 
the  other  experiments  in  this  kind  of  action,  never  allow 
yourself  to  start  the  action  until  you  imagine  yourself 
actually  bringing  the  eye  of  the  listener  in  contact  with  a 
definite  object. 

Be  prepared  to  present  this  oral  description,  with  its 
three  forms  of  Action  to  Let  the  Audience  Examine  Ob- 
jects, before  the  class. 

V.   ACTION  OF  PURPOSE  TO  EMPHASIZE  THE  THINGS 
DISCUSSED 

To  emphasize  a  thing,  is  to  make  that  thing  stand  out 
in  prominence.  In  the  broadest  meaning  of  the  term  "em- 


ACTION  OF  PURPOSE  TO  EMPHASIZE  309 

phasize,"  every  appropriate  gesture  or  movement  a  speaker 
may  make  is  made  to  emphasize  the  thing  of  which,  at 
that  moment,  he  is  speaking.  But  the  term  has  a  much 
more  restricted  meaning,  as  it  is  commonly  understood.  To 
emphasize  means  about  the  same  as  to  "drive  home"  a 
truth.  A  careful  examination  of  the  action  of  speakers 
when  they  are  "driving  home"  what  they  are  saying,  re- 
veals the  fact  that  the  form  of  action  they  use,  at  such 
times,  is  the  same  as  the  form  of  action  used  to  let  the 
audience  examine  a  thing  for  itself.  The  difference  be- 
tween the  two  kinds  of  action,  seems  to  be,  that  action 
used  for  particular  emphasis  has  much  more  force  put 
into  it.  For  example,  we  see  a  speaker  step  toward  his 
audience  and  unfold  his  hand  toward  them  as  he  asks: 
"Isn't  that  true?"  He  seems  merely  to  be  holding  the 
thing  discussed,  there  in  his  hand,  to  let  the  audience  de- 
cide whether  it  be  true.  The  next  instant,  he  raises  that 
hand  and  unfolds  it  with  much  force,  as  if  to  throw  the 
thing  discussed,  down  before  the  audience,  while  he  says: 
"You  know  it  is  true !"  This  is  typical  action  of  emphasis. 
The  psychology  of  it  is  very  simple.  In  life,  whenever  we 
have  found  any  material  thing  of  unusual  size,  unusual 
quality,  or  unusual  importance,  if  we  wished  to  tell  some- 
one about  this  thing,  we  have  always  got  that  thing,  if 
it  were  possible  to  do  so,  and  laid  it  before  the  other 
person,  with  much  satisfaction,  as  we  said:  "There!  Now 
what  do  you  think?"  When  we  use  such  action  in  speak- 
ing, we  simply  follow  the  habit  we  have  formed.  We  use 
it  because  we  imagine  ourselves  bringing  before  the  audi- 
ence a  thing  so  important  that  we  must  make  each  listener 
look  at  it  and  be  convinced. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ACTION    OF    IDENTIFICATION    AND    GENERAL 

ACTION 

ACTION  of  identification  is  not  action  of  mimicry,  as 
some  persons  seem  to  regard  it.  The  difference  between 
these  two  kinds  of  action  may  be  shown  by  an  illustration. 
A  speaker  is  describing  the  movements  of  a  base-ball  player 
running  bases.  The  speaker  describes  this  player  as  being 
near  first  base,  watching  his  opportunity  to  get  to  second 
base.  He  describes  the  various  antics  of  the  player,  tells 
how  he  jumps  about,  how  he  throws  out  his  arms  and  then 
slaps  them  against  his  sides,  how  he  makes  a  lunge  as  if 
starting  to  run,  etc.  The  speaker  deems  this  a  good  op- 
portunity to  "put  in  some  action,"  so  he  mimics  all  the 
movements  of  the  player  while  he  describes  them,  with  no 
other  motive  than  to  mimic.  What  is  the  result?  We, 
who  see  the  speaker  do  this,  discern  that  his  action  has 
descended  to  mere  mimicry,  and  that  he  is  making  the 
mistake  of  attracting  attention  to  himself  more  than  to  the 
play  he  is  describing. 

Let  this  same  speaker  try  again.  This  time,  let  him 
have  a  strong  desire  to  see  the  player  succeed.  Let  the 
speaker  fix  in  mind  that  the  player  should  be  attending 
closely  to  duty  instead  of  making  these  antics.  Now  let 
the  speaker  mimic  the  antics,  to  show  how  far  they  are 

310 


ACTION  OF  IDENTIFICATION  311 

from  what  the  player  should  be  doing.  Immediately  the 
speaker's  effort  has  a  very  different  effect.  We,  of  the 
audience,  now  feel  that  the  mimicry  helps  us  to  see  the 
player  and  the  relation  of  the  player  to  the  game. 

Again  let  the  speaker  describe  these  antics.  This  time, 
let  him  assume  an  attitude  toward  the  player,  different  from 
either  of  the  attitudes  already  taken.  Let  him  now  have 
so  earnest  a  desire  to  see  the  player  confuse  the  pitcher  by 
these  movements,  that  the  speaker  delights  in  these  move- 
ments, feels  that  they  are  masterful  work,  wants  to  help 
the  player  make  them.  Now  let  him  imitate  the  movements 
and  we  find  them  still  more  pleasing.  We  know  that  the 
speaker  is  now  not  only  causing  us  to  see  the  player  and 
his  relation  to  the  game,  but  that  he  is  also  reflecting  to 
us  the  spirit  of  the  game. 

The  illustrations  in  the  last  two  paragraphs,  show  us  the 
only  causes  which  produce  imitative  action  that  is  worthy 
of  the  name  good  action.  In  the  first  of  the  three  attempts 
made  by  this  speaker,  he  merely  mimicked,  to  show  us  that 
he  could  mimic,  and  the  result  was  bad.  In  the  second 
attempt,  he  mimicked  again.  This  time,  the  result  was 
better,  because  the  speaker  had  so  strong  a  desire  to  see 
action  different  from  the  action  he  saw,  that  he  mimicked 
the  action  of  the  player  to  show  us  how  far  it  was  from 
what  he  desired.  In  the  third  effort,  this  speaker  identified 
himself  in  action,  with  the  player  he  described,  and  the 
result  was  best  because  he  had  so  strong  a  desire  to  see 
the  player  succeed,  that  he  made  the  action  with  the  player, 
as  if  to  help  him. 

These  illustrations  show  us  that  mimicry  and  identifica- 
tion arise  from  different  causes.  They  show  us,  further- 


312  ACTION   OF   IDENTIFICATION 

more,  that  mere  mimicry  is  a  thing  to  be  avoided,  while 
action  of  identification  may  greatly  add  to  the  effectiveness 
of  speech.  Finally,  these  illustrations  suggest  that: 

Mimicry  is  justified  in  speaking  only  when  the  speaker 
is  moved  by  so  strong  a  desire  to  see  action  different 
from  the  action  he  describes,  that  he  mimics  the  action 
merely  to  show  how  far  it  is  from  what  it  should  be, 
that  he  may  turn  the  minds  of  the  audience  to  con- 
template the  action  desired. 

It  is  no  justification  of  mimicry  to  say  that  we  use  it 
to  introduce  some  humor.  If  a  speaker  mimics  just  to  be 
funny,  his  efforts  are  likely  to  fall  flat,  and,  if  the  audience 
does  laugh,  it  laughs  at  the  speaker  and  not  at  the  thing 
he  is  mimicking. 


The  Law  of  Identification 

We  have  found  that: 

It  requires  something  stronger  than  a  desire  to  imi- 
tate, to  identify  us  with  the  movement  of  anything  we 
are  discussing  or  describing. 

Let  us  look  more  closely  into  the  real  nature  of  identifi- 
cation. I  stand  before  an  audience,  describing  a  scene  in 
a  great  forest-fire  in  a  pine  forest.  I  see  a  young  man 
and  his  sweetheart,  fleeing  before  this  fire.  They  are 
both  almost  exhausted  and  the  fire  is  gaining  on  them, 
when  the  young  woman  falls  in  a  swoon.  I  see  the  young 
man  quickly  stoop  and  lift  the  body  of  the  girl.  I  see 
him  staggering  beneath  the  load,  and  then,  with  almost 
superhuman  effort,  I  see  him  carry  the  dead  weight  of 


ACTION  TO  FOLLOW  THE  ALLURING          313 

that  limp  form,  while,  by  sheer  strength,  he  pulls  himself 
up  over  slippery  crag  and  rocky  steep.  While  I  describe 
this  heroic  struggle,  I  find  myself  stooping  when  the  young 
man  stoops,  straining  when  he  strains,  lifting  and  pulling 
when  he  lifts  and  pulls.  Why  is  this?  It  is  because  I  am 
so  anxious  to  see  him  succeed  in  the  effort  he  is  making, 
that  I  feel  as  if  I  were  making  the  effort  myself.  I  am 
identified  with  him  in  his  struggle. 

In  this  situation,  we  find  the  true  law  of  this  kind  of 
action : 

We  use  action  of  identification  when  we  are  describing 
the  effort  of  a  person  or  thing,  to  accomplish  something 
so  worthy,  something  which  we  so  earnestly  wish  to 
see  accomplished,  that  we  are  moved  by  a  desire  to 
help  that  person  or  thing,  a  desire  so  strong  that  we 
unconsciously  move  with  the  movements  of  that  person 
or  thing. 


Action  to  Follow  the  Alluring 

An  interesting  use  of  action  of  identification  is  that 
which  a  speaker  makes  when  he  is  moved  to  follow  the 
alluring.  The  reason  a  speaker  longs  to  lead  his  audi- 
ence to  higher  efforts,  is  that  he  himself  is  being  led  by  a 
great  ideal  which  rises  before  him  and  allures  him.  No- 
where in  literature  is  this  action  of  a  speaker  while  he 
follows  the  alluring,  better  illustrated  than  in  Hamlet. 
When  the  mind  of  the  young  and  devoted  prince  has  dwelt 
on  the  virtue  of  his  departed  father  until  he  is  willing  to 
let  that  father's  spirit  lead  and  rule  his  life,  he  suddenly 


314  ACTION   OF   IDENTIFICATION 

imagines  that  spirit  before  him  as  a  real  personage,  and, 
with  his  whole  soul  following,  he  says  to  that  spirit:  "Go 
on,  I'll  follow  thee!"  Imagine  an  actor  trying  to  read 
those  lines  and  making  no  bodily  movement !  His  action 
(or  rather  his  inaction)  would  belie  his  words.  He  would 
seem  not  even  willing,  much  less  eager,  to  follow  the  ideal 
life  confronting  him.  That  actor  would  fail  utterly  to  lead 
his  audience  in  any  great  feeling.  But  the  actor  who,  while 
speaking  those  wrords,  gives  his  whole  body,  as  well  as 
mind  and  soul,  to  a  devoted  following  of  the  spirit  before 
him,  has  a  tremendous  effect  on  his  audience. 

There  are  many  situations,  both  in  reading  and  speaking, 
where  this  kind  of  action  of  identification  is  demanded. 
For  example,  when  we  speak  such  sentences  as  "Great  is 
Truth,"  if  we  have  anything  like  a  clear  conception  of 
the  thing  of  which  we  speak,  if  we  see  Truth  rising  above 
all  littleness  and  standing  in  majesty  and  strength,  we  find 
our  own  heads  rising  and  our  own  chests  expanding.  We 
are  then  following  the  alluring. 

It  is  in  speaking  of  strong  emotional  uplift,  that  this 
form  of  action  of  identification  is  demanded. 

It  then  has  a  great  effect  in  causing  the  audience  to 
follow  the  thing  which  allures  the  speaker. 

Identification  and  Impersonation  Contrasted 

The  speaker  should  be  careful  not  to  confuse  action  of 
identification  with  impersonation. 

When  we  use  action  of  identification,  we  remain  our- 
selves and  watch  the  thing  with  whose  action  we  identify 
our  own. 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  ACTION  OF  IDENTIFICATION    315 

When  we  impersonate,  we  cease  to  be  ourselves,  we 
take  the  view-point  of  the  person  impersonated,  and  then, 
from  that  view-point,  use  any  one  of  the  three  general 
kinds  of  action  (action  of  symbolism,  action  of  purpose, 
or  action  of  identification).  In  other  words: 

When  we  impersonate,  we  can  no  longer  see  the  per- 
son whose  actions  we  have  adopted,  for  we  have  be- 
come that  person. 

We  cannot  see  a  person  and  at  the  same  time  be  that 
person.  From  this  it  is  clear  that: 

We  should  never  attempt  to  impersonate  anyone  when 
we  are  describing  that  person,  for  when  we  describe 
we  are  supposed  to  see  the  thing  described. 

This,  again,  should  make  clear  the  rule  found  in  some 
of  the  text  books:  "We  should  attempt  to  impersonate 
only  when  we  speak  the  words  of  the  person  imperson- 
ated." 

To  realize  the  great  effectiveness  of  action  of  identifica- 
tion, the  speaker  must  use  it  in  strict  conformity  with  the 
law  of  identification,  stated  above. 

To  start  this  correct  use,  you  will  find  help  in  the  fol- 
lowing : 


Experiments  in  Action  of  Identification 

i.  For  the  first  experiment,  describe  a  play  in  a  foot- 
ball game,  at  the  particular  time  when  two  opposing  teams 
are  massed  against  each  other  in  a  hard  struggle.  Imagine 
that  the  play  is  taking  place  only  a  few  yards  before  you  and 
that  you  are  describing,  to  a  friend  who  stands  beside  you, 


316  ACTION   OF   IDENTIFICATION 

the  fine  work  that  is  being  done  by  your  favorite  team. 
Show  the  positions  which  are  being  taken  and  the  efforts 
which  are  being  made  by  several  players.  For  example,  see 
how  one  player  at  the  back  of  all  the  others,  braces  himself 
against  the  others,  crouches  low,  puts  his  extended  arms 
under  men  to  his  right  and  left,  and,  lifting  himself,  fairly 
carries  them  all  forward.  As  you  describe  this  and  other 
plays,  become  so  determined  to  make  the  friend  beside  you 
see  and  realize  the  movements  you  describe,  that  your  own 
body  moves  with  each  player  as  you  describe  him.  Prac- 
tice this  description  many  times. 

2.  Second  experiment.  Prepare  an  original  narrative 
description  of  a  scene  in  which  there  is  much  action,  where 
one,  two,  or  three  persons  take  the  lead,  struggling  hard  to 
accomplish  something  against  strongly  opposing  forces  and 
circumstances  (as  in  a  scene  of  rescue  from  a  burning 
building) .  Imagine  you  see  the  leaders  now  struck  aghast  at 
the  spectacle,  now  pressing  forward  to  overcome  the  diffi- 
culty. See  them  first  lifting  something,  then  pressing  down 
something  else ;  pushing  up  certain  things,  then  pulling  down 
others;  pushing  forward  someone,  then  pulling  back  some- 
one ;  pressing  together,  then  scattering  different  things  which 
oppose  them.  Be  filled  with  so  intense  a  desire  to  see 
these  men  succeed,  be  filled  with  such  a  desire  to  help 
them,  that  you  move  with  them  in  their  every  movement. 
Develop  this  description,  by  repeating  the  experiment  many 
times,  until  you  have  actually  seemed  to  see  your  heroes 
of  the  scene,  performing  practically  every  kind  of  effective 
action,  and  until  you  have  fully  identified  yourself  with 
them  in  all  these  actions.  Go  through  this  description  and 
action  before  the  class. 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  ACTION  OF  IDENTIFICATION  317 

The  speaker  is  sometimes  inclined  to  remain  identified 
with  a  person  whose  action  he  has  just  been  following, 
even  when  he  has  passed  on  to  the  description  of  other 
persons.  For  example,  the  present  writer  recalls  the  work 
of  a  student  who  was  describing  a  western  scene  in  which 
the  hero  was  surrounded  by  several  rough  characters  who 
were  bent  on  doing  him  violence.  The  hero  raised  his 
gun  to  his  shoulder.  When  the  student  reached  this  point 
in  his  description,  he  raised  an  imaginary  gun  to  his  own 
shoulder.  While  the  hero  stood  there,  with  his  gun  raised 
and  his  eye  fixed  on  those  persons  who  stood  before  him, 
some  of  the  hero's  assailants  slipped  behind  him  and  pro- 
ceeded to  prepare  a  rope  with  which  to  bind  him.  While 
the  student  described  the  movements  of  these  men  with 
the  rope,  he  still  stood  in  the  attitude  of  the  hero,  with 
the  imaginary  gun  still  raised  to  his  shoulder.  The  effect 
was,  of  course,  bad,  not  to  say  ridiculous. 

The  error  in  such  cases  is  a  double  one.  In  the  first 
place,  the  speaker  goes  through  the  action  of  identification 
when  he  is  not  really  identified  with  the  person  described. 
In  the  case  just  cited,  the  student's  hero  was  not  doing 
anything  sufficiently  difficult  for  the  student  to  long  to 
help  his  hero  as  he  watched  him.  That  is  to  say,  there 
was  no  strong  cause  of  identification,  hence,  no  strong 
identification — only  a  make-believe.  In  the  second  place, 
when  a  speaker's  action  identifies  him  with  one  person 
or  thing  while  he  describes  another,  it  is  because  the 
speaker's  mind  fails  to  move  on  with  the  events  he  is  de- 
scribing. 

The  instant  the  speaker  is  done  with  his  description 
of  any  one  action,  his  body  should  come  entirely  out 


3l8  ACTION  OF   IDENTIFICATION 

of  that  action  (no  matter  how  fully  it  may  have  been 
identified  with  that  action),  and  should  remain  ready  but 
passive  until  it  is  called  into  action  by  something' else. 


Pantomime  as  a  Developer  of  General  Action 

So  far  we  have  devoted  our  entire  attention  to  one  form 
of  action  at  a  time.  Several  benefits  have  resulted  from 
this  method.  In  the  first  place,  we  have  avoided  confusing, 
in  our  minds,  the  various  forms  of  action.  Next,  we  have 
spent  enough  time  in  the  study  of  each  form,  to  give  us 
a  lasting  knowledge  of  all.  Finally,  we  have  now  learned 
how  to  stimulate  the  causes  of  each  form  of  action,  in  the 
few  experiments  we  have  performed,  so  that  we  should 
not  only  have  a  knowledge  of  each  form,  but  should  also 
be  ready  to  make  practical  use  of  all  the  forms. 

When  we  think  of  the  action  we  shall  need  for  prac- 
tical speaking,  however,  we  realize  that  we  cannot  follow 
the  method  we  have  been  following.  It  is  easy  to  see  that 
any  speech  may  call  for  all  kinds  of  action.  For  this 
reason,  it  is  evident  that  the  student  of  speaking  should 
perform  many  experiments  in  which  all  sorts  of  action 
are  demanded. 

To  meet  these  demands,  we  have  discovered  nothing 
that  brings  such  good  results,  especially  to  beginners  in 
speech,  as  experiments  in  Pantomime.  There  are  distinct 
psychological  reasons  why  Pantomime  is  so  beneficial.  We 
said,  in  the  chapter  on  Action  of  Purpose,  that  the  average 
student  seems  to  shrink  from  using  action  of  any  kind, 
when  he  speaks,  because  he  has  formed  the  habit  of  speak- 


PANTOMIME  AS  A  DEVELOPER       319 

ing  without  action.  But  he  shrinks  much  less  from  the 
use  of  pantomime,  The  reason  seems  to  be,  that  he  has 
formed  no  habit  at  all,  in  connection  with  pantomime,  for 
he  has  never  tried  to  speak  in  action  without  words,  hence 
he  has  no  habit  of  inaction  to  overcome.  This  alone  is 
a  strong  recommendation  for  pantomime;  but  it  has  more 
to  commend  it.  "Necessity  is  the  mother  of  invention"; 
we  find  this  principle  active  in  the  work  of  pantomime. 
As  soon  as  a  speaker  becomes  aware  that  he  cannot  (or 
must  not)  express  his  thoughts  in  words,  if  he  has  any 
thoughts  to  express,  he  begins  to  search  for  some  way  to 
convey  those  thoughts  without  words.  What  is  the  result? 
He  soon  perceives  that  he  possesses  a  great  language  that 
he  did  not  know  he  had,  the  language  of  action.  He  finds 
that  he  can  express  some  shades  of  thought,  and  many 
shades  of  feeling,  through  this  sign  language,  which  he 
cannot  convey  in  words.  He  finds  that  he  can  tell  his  whole 
story  without  the  use  of  a  word.  When  he  has  done  this 
until  his  whole  body  speaks  for  him,  if  he  then  tells  his 
story  in  words  and  action,  and  if  he  tries  to  make  his 
action-language  tell  as  much  as  it  did  when  he  used  no 
words,  and  his  word-language  tell  as  much  as  it  did  when 
he  used  no  action,  he  finds  that  his  ability  to  interest  and 
influence  his  audience  has  increased  many  fold. 

We  too  seldom  realize  that  we  possess,  not  one,  but  three 
languages : 

The  language  of  action,  the  language  of  voice,  and  the 
language  of  words.  The  first  two  are  natural  languages, 
while  the  language  of  words  is  only  an  acquired,  artificial 
language. 

Can  we  afford,  then,  as  students  of  speaking,  to  try  to 


32O  ACTION   OF   IDENTIFICATION 

express  all  our  thoughts  and  feelings  in  the  artificial 
language  and  allow  the  two  great  natural  languages  to  lie 
unused  ?  Nothing  is  equal  to  pantomime  in  bringing  us  to 
realize  how  much  of  the  power  of  the  speaker  is  lost  when 
the  action-language  is  not  used. 

To  begin  the  effective  use  of  all  forms  of  action,  perform 
the  following: 


Experiments  in  General  Action 

I.  Imagine  that  you  go  to  a  railroad  station,  perform,  in 
pantomime,  the  acts  necessary  to  get  through  the  crowd- 
Find  the  bulletin-board  and  discover  whether  your  train  is 
on  time.  Watch  the  train  come  in.  Look  for  a  friend 
who  is  to  arrive  on  this  train,  until  you  find  him.  Greet 
this  friend  and  take  him  through  the  crowd  to  a  convey- 
ance, and  ride  with  him.  Show  your  friend  certain  things 
as  you  drive  along.  Let  your  action  point  out  to  him  the 
small,  definite  objects;  unfold  the  more  general  ones,  and 
picture  the  more  beautiful  and  those  from  which  you  wish 
him  to  get  the  more  lasting  impressions. 

Arrive  with  your  friend  at  your  home.  Perform  the  acts 
necessary  to  take  him  into  the  house,  courteously  assist 
him  with  his  luggage,  and  take  him  to  his  room.  Examine 
certain  things  which  he  gives  you  to  examine.  Let  these 
employ  several  of  your  senses.  Think  of  certain  things 
you  wish  to  tell  this  friend  about,  the  size  and  shape  of 
which  you  wish  to  show  him.  Show  these  by  action  of 
symbolism.  Describe  to  him,  very  briefly,  some  recent 
game  or  other  vigorous  scene  in  which  you  become  identi- 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  GENERAL  ACTION  321 

fied,  with  one  or  more  of  the  persons  whom  you  describe. 
Let  your  action  show  this.  Describe  certain  things  which 
are  repulsive  to  you,  and  let  your  action  repel  these  things ; 
describe  other  things  and  let  your  action  show  that  you 
overcome  them,  conquer  them. 

Be  sure  that  the  definite  things  in  your  mind  and  your 
attitudes  toward  those  things,  cause  your  actions. 

This  work  will  be  made  much  easier  and  more  beneficial 
if  you  will  make  a  careful  outline  of  the  things  which  you 
can  imagine  and  which  you  intend  to  imagine  in  telling 
your  pantomime  story.  When  you  have  made  this  outline, 
and  have  performed  the  whole  experiment  in  pantomime 
four  times,  then  go  through  the  entire  experience  using 
words  as  well  as  action.  Condense  the  whole  story  to 
three  minutes  and  be  prepared  to  tell  it  to  the  class  in 
pantomime,  or  in  words  and  action. 

2.  For  the  second  experiment,  imagine  that  a  war  is  on 
and  that  your  best  friend  is  in  the  war.    Receive  word  that 
he  has  been  wounded.     Prepare  to  leave  and  go  to  him. 
Find  him  unconscious.    Consult  the  doctor  and  the  nurse, 
and  observe  the  various  facilities  for  taking  care  of  your 
wounded  friend.     Imagine  that  he  finally  returns  to  con- 
sciousness.   Talk  to  him  and  care  for  him.    Present  this  first 
in  pantomime  and  then  do  it  in  action  and  words  together ; 
but  be  sure  that,  when  you  use  words,  you  lose  none  of  the 
action  you  employed  when  you  made  your  action  tell  all. 
Condense  the  story  to  three  minutes. 

3.  As  a  third  experiment,  imagine  that  you  are  a  miser, 
Approach  your  secret  dwelling  and  show  by  your  action 
that  you  are  taking  all  the  precautions  necessary  to  avoid 
being  noticed.    Enter  your  abode,  and  make  sure  that  no 


322  ACTION   OF   IDENTIFICATION 

one  sees  you  or  what  you  do.  Imagine  that  you  have  sev- 
eral places  where  your  hoarded  wealth  can  be  effectually 
hidden.  Go  to  the  one  place  where  you  feel  practically  sure 
you  hid  the  money,  and  find  it — gone !  Complete  the  scene 
from  your  own  creative  imagination.  Let  this  also  be  a 
three-minute  pantomime  story. 

This  experiment  furnishes  an  excellent  opportunity  to 
test  the  student's  ability  to  do  original  and  telling  work. 
Realize  that  it  will  show  your  ability  or  your  inability, 
therefore  put  your  best  effort  into  it.  Does  the  terrible 
surprise  and  disappointment  kill  the  miser,  and,  if  so,  how 
does  it  kill  him  ?  Does  the  loss  throw  him  into  such  a  frenzy 
that  the  heat  of  his  passion  kills  him,  or  does  it  prey  upon 
his  mind  until  it  pinches  out  his  life?  Does  it  drive  him 
to  despair  and  suicide?  Does  he  pursue  the  thief?  Choose 
the  outcome  of  the  scene  which  seems  to  you  the  most 
plausible,  and  then  enact  all  the  details  of  such  an  ending. 
Your  ability  will  be  shown  largely  by  your  invention  and 
by  the  large  number  of  plausible  details  you  introduce  in 
your  three-minute  pantomime  story. 

4.  In  the  fourth  experiment,  let  the  student  further  de- 
velop his  ability  to  use  action,  by  pantomiming  selections 
from  literature.  If  selections  have  been  committed  to 
memory  and  used  in  this  course,  previously  to  this  time,  let 
the  student  first  use  those  selections.  If  no  pieces  from  lit- 
erature have  been  used,  use  such  as  "A  Legend  of  Bregenz," 
by  Proctor;  or  "Herve  Riel,"  by  Browning;  or  "The 
Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade,"  by  Tennyson;  or  "Paul 
Revere's  Ride,"  by  Longfellow;  "Boot  and  Saddle,"  by 
Browning ;  or  either  of  the  soliloquies  in  "Hamlet,"  the  one 
in  Act  I,  Scene  2,  beginning  with  line  1 29 ;  or  the  one  in  Act 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  GENERAL  ACTION  323 

II,  Scene  2,  beginning  with  line  533 ;  or  the  quarrel  between 
Brutus  and  Cassius,  in  "Julius  Caesar/'  Act  I,  Scene  3. 
In  preparing  any  selection  for  pantomime : 
Be  careful  to  commit  the  selection  to  memory  only 
by  the  conception-forming  method,  and  into  every  con- 
ception build  your  own  action — full  and  free  action. 
(Review  the  discussions  on  pages  209-215  and  225-237.) 
Present  each  selection  first  in  pantomime.  Speak  no 
words  aloud,  but  enter  so  fully  into  every  situation  which 
the  selection  presents,  and  determine  to  make  so  clear  every 
thought  that  is  in  your  mind,  that  you  tell  the  story  as  well, 
every  part  of  it,  as  if  you  were  using  words.  When  you 
have  practiced  a  story  several  times  in  pantomime,  then 
present  it  in  words  and  action.  When  you  first  attempt  to 
present  the  story  in  words  and  action,  you  may  feel  that, 
since  you  are  now  using  the  words,  you  no  longer  need  the 
elaborate  action  which  was  necessary  to  present  the  story 
without  words.  You  must  conquer  this  feeling  at  once, 
or  all  real  benefit  from  the  pantomime  work  you  have  been 
doing,  will  be  lost.  Compel  yourself  to  speak  slowly  enough 
to  give  yourself  time  to  assume  attitudes  of  mind  and  body, 
as  strong  as  you  had  when  you  had  to  tell  the  entire  story 
by  your  action.  Keep  before  your  mind  the  motto  "Action 
speaks  louder  than  words,"  and  keep  saying  to  yourself: 
"If  I  am  to  tell  this  story  as  it  ought  to  be  told,  then  the 
principal  part  of  the  telling  must  be  done  by  my  action," 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR  SOURCES 

IF  one  possess  an  emotional  temperament,  should  he  allow 
himself  to  express  his  emotions  or  should  he  repress  them  ? 
If  he  is  not  emotional,  shall  he  try  to  become  so?  These 
are  questions  which  come  to  every  person  who  thinks.  They 
come  with  especial  force  to  every  student  who  desires  to 
fit  himself  for  a  life  of  usefulness.  If  the  inquirer  asks 
the  advice  of  others,  he  is  likely  to  become  more  confused 
than  before.  One  person  will  declare  the  emotions  the 
greatest  enemy  to  practical  success  in  the  world;  another 
will  assert  with  emphasis  that  all  of  life  will  be  a  failure 
unless  one  train  himself  to  appreciate  the  emotional  in  life. 
One  will  say  that  emotion  destroys  thought  and  ability  to 
reason ;  another  will  say  that  all  thought  devoid  of  emotion 
is  lifeless  and  useless.  This  person  sees  in  the  emotional 
man  or  woman  only  lack  of  control;  that  person  sees  no- 
where such  lofty  and  noble  power  as  he  sees  in  those  lives 
which  are  filled  with  feeling.  In  the  face  of  this  con- 
troversy, what  shall  the  student  conclude?  Is  emotion,  for 
him,  an  asset  or  a  liability?  Where  such  a  clash  of  opinion 
is  found,  touching  one  of  our  faculties,  there  is  likely  to 
be  a  misunderstanding  somewhere.  Perhaps  different  men 
have  different  things  in  mind  when  they  speak  of  emotion. 
Let  us  find  the  cause  of  the  controversy  if  we  can. 

324 


THE  THREE  KINDS  OF  FEELINGS  325 


KINDS   OF   FEELINGS 

.  A  thorough  study  into  the  nature  and  the  causes  of 
various  feelings,  shows  us  that  they  are  of  three  general 
kinds  or  classes.  First,  we  find  those  feelings  which  re- 
mind us  of  the  physical  existence  of  the  many  things 
around  us.  Someone  says:  "Why,  that  is  just  what  the 
sensations  do."  True  enough.  Then  are  these  feelings 
simply  sensations,  and  are  all  sensations  feelings?  Let  us 
see.  A  flash  of  light  or  color  comes  to  your  eye.  It  is 
an  unquestioned  sensation,  isn't  it  ?  Yet  you  had  no  par- 
ticular feeling  did  you?  At  another  time  a  flash  of  light 
comes  to  your  eye  so  quickly  and  with  such  force  that  a 
sharp  pain  darts  through  your  eye.  It  was  none  the  less 
a  sensation  than  before,  yet  it  gave  you  a  decided  feeling. 
So,  we  discover  that  we  can  have  sensations  of  sight  with 
and  without  feeling.  As  I  sit  here,  my  sense  of  sound 
tells  me  that  my  clock  is  ticking.  I  experience  nothing 
that  I  could  call  a  feeling.  Suddenly  some  one  near  me 
claps  his  hands  together  so  violently  that  my  ear  pains  me 
for  some  moments.  The  sensation  of  sound  may  or  may 
not  produce  appreciable  feeling.  I  uncork  a  bottle  of 
perfume  and  the  odor  comes  to  me  in  such  peaceful  quiet 
that  I  do  not  feel  it;  but  when  I  draw  the  stopper  from 
a  bottle  of  strong  ammonia  and  place  the  bottle  under  my 
nose,  a  spasm  of  pain  shoots  through  my  head.  If  I  taste 
sugar,  I  may  not  be  conscious  of  any  feeling;-  but  red 
pepper  is  placed  on  my  tongue,  taste  suddenly  seems  to  have 
taken  on  feeling.  In  all  the  senses  we  find  the  same  con- 
ditions. 


326          THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR  SOURCES 

From  these  facts  we  conclude,  first,  that  while  a  sensa- 
tion need  not  contain  a  "feeling,"  yet  each  sense  is  capable 
of  giving  us  distinct  feeling.  Secondly,  we  conclude  that: 

Whenever  any  one  of  the  senses  receives  an  impres- 
sion strong  enough  to  set  up  a  violent  action  in  the 
nerves,  that  very  action  itself  is  to  us  a  feeling,  a  feeling 
strong  enough  to  be  confused  with  emotion.  We  say  "con- 
fused with"  emotion,  for  we  shall  see  later  that  it  is  very 
different  from  emotion. 

This  class  of  feelings,  set  ap  in  us  wholly  by  the 
physical  influence  of  things  in  the  outer  world,  we  call 
sensational  feelings. 

Now  there  are  two  conditions  either  of  which  may  pro- 
duce strong  sensational  feelings.  The  motion-waves  com- 
ing to  a  person  from  the  thing  giving  him  the  sensation 
may  be  so  strong  (as  in  the  case  of  a  loud  noise  or  a 
violent  blow)  that  they  would  startle  the  nervous  system 
of  anyone;  or  the  person  affected  by  the  motion- waves 
may  have  so  little  control  of  his  nerves  that  many  sensa- 
tions throw  him  into  a  commotion  which  have  no  such 
effect  on  more  quiet  and  better  controlled  persons. 

You  have  often  seen  this  illustrated.  A  score  of  people 
are  in  a  room  together  when  a  door  slams.  One  single 
person  experiences  such  extreme  feeling,  because  of  the 
sound,  that  she  screams  and  is  thrown  into  a  "nervous  fit," 
while  all  the  others  remain  quiet.  Is  this  one  person  the 
only  emotional  one  in  the  room?  Is  she  even  the  most 
emotional  one  ?  Quite  the  contrary.  We  have  often  found 
such  an  one  far  less  emotional  than  those  who  had  better 
control  and  less  sensational  shocks.  At  the  time  of  this 
writing,  the  author  has  in  his  classes  a  young  lady  of  whose 


THE  THREE  KINDS  OF  FEELINGS  327 

emotions  he  has  made  a  special  study  for  a  number  of  years. 
She  is  intensely  subject  to  sensational  shocks.  A  loud 
noise  or  a  sudden  movement  or  a  flash  of  light  or  excite- 
ment of  any  kind,  will  cause  her  intense  feeling.  We  have 
made  every  reasonable  test  of  her  emotions  and  find  that 
she  is  almost  devoid  of  emotion.  At  least  she  is  much  less 
capable  of  experiencing  the  emotions  than  others  are,  who 
have  much  less  sensational  feeling  than  she  has.  Further- 
more, she  is  least  capable  of  real  emotion  when  she  is  most 
subject  to  sensational  shocks.  We  have  seen  others  af- 
fected by  joy  when  she  was  not;  by  sorrow,  when  she 
was  not;  by  exultation,  when  she  was  not;  by  depression, 
when  she  was  not;  by  courage,  when  she  was  not;  and 
even  by  fear,  when  she  was  not.  In  many  of  these  cases, 
her  sensational  feelings  ran  high  at  the  very  moment  when 
other  persons  received  the  thrill  of  emotion.  We  know 
that  she  did  not  experience  any  such  feelings  as  could 
rightly  be  called  emotions — we  know  it  by  the  absence  of 
all  evidence  of  emotion,  and  by  her  own  testimony  that 
she  had  no  such  experience.  This  is  one  of  many  cases 
we  have  investigated.  There  has  been  practically  no  ex- 
ception to  the  results  here  recorded. 

These  tests  should  leave  no  question,  in  the  mind  of  any 
reasonable  person,  as  to  the  fact  that  there  is  a  difference 
between  the  feelings  received  from  sensational  impressions, 
and  the  feelings  which  we  may,  unhesitatingly,  call  emo- 
tions. It  should  also  be  clear  that : 

If  he  wishes  to  know  the  value  of  emotion  in  his  work, 
the  intending  speaker  must  first  know  the  difference  be- 
tween an  emotion  and  a  sensational  feling. 

Since  these  two  classes  of  feelings  can  exist,  the  one 


328          THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR  SOURCES 

without  the  other,  and  since  increase  of  the  one  often  tends 
to  decrease  the  other,  it  is  evident  that  they  come  from 
different  causes.  But: 

Since  sensational  feelings  are  often,  erroneously,  re- 
garded as  emotions,  and,  since  the  sensational  feelings 
are  so  often  found  in  persons  who  have  little  control  of 
themselves,  it  is  not  surprising  that  many  persons,  er- 
roneously, look  upon  emotion  as  a  weakness. 

Some  of  the  psychologists  have  failed  to  give  us  any- 
thing helpful  in  their  treatment  of  the  emotions,  largely 
because  they  have  confused  the  sensational  feelings  with 
the  emotions.  One  author,  for  example,  has  written  a 
book  of  considerable  size  on  'Tain  and  Pleasure."  Near 
the  end  of  this  book,  the  author  admits  that  he  is  not  able 
to  account  for  the  causes  of  our  most  important  emotions. 
We  do  not  wonder  that  he  has  failed  to  discover  these 
most  important  causes,  when  we  learn  that  he  has  not 
discovered  the  difference  between  mere  physical  pains  and 
pleasures,  and  those  feelings  which  we  shall  shortly  dis- 
cuss under  the  name  emotions.  On  the  other  hand,  so 
notable  an  authority  as  M.  Ribot,  who  has,  probably,  given 
more  thorough  study  to  the  emotions  than  any  other  writer, 
shows,  many  times,  in  his  remarkable  book  Psychology 
of  the  Emotions,  that  Sensational  Feelings  (though  he  does 
not  give  them  this  name)  are  distinctly  different  from 
Emotions. 

Sensational  feelings  may  give  us  pain  or  they  may  give 
us  pleasure.  For  example,  we  may  get  a  sensational  feel- 
ing that  is  decidedly  pleasant,  from  hearing  a  strong,  full 
chord  of  music;  or  we  may  get  a  sensational  feeling  that 
is  decidedly  painful,  from  hearing  a  terrific  explosion.  The 


THE  THREE  KINDS  OF  FEELINGS  329 

thing  we  must  now  get  clearly  established  in  mind,  is,  that 
there  is  one  large  class  of  feelings  which  arise  from  the 
purely  physical  cause  stated  above. 

Now  it  requires  but  little  thinking  to  enable  us  to  realize 
that  we  have  many  feelings  which  do  not  arise  from  this 
cause  which  produces  the  sensational  feelings.  Gurney,  the 
noted  English  psychologist  (Mind,  IX,  425),  declares  that 
he  has  "received  as  much  emotion  in  the  silent  reading  of 
music  as  when  presented  by  the  finest  orchestra."  You  hear 
someone  speak  the  name  of  a  certain  person.  There  is 
nothing  in  the  sound  of  the  name,  as  you  hear  it,  that  would 
give  you  either  pain  or  pleasure,  yet,  the  instant  you  hear 
that  name,  you  have  a  strong  feeling  of  displeasure.  You 
hear  the  name  of  a  certain  other  person  and  you  instantly 
have  a  strong  feeling  of  pleasure.  You  need  not  be  told 
that  those  feelings  did  not  arise  from  a  physical  cause. 
You  know  that  they  started  in  your  mind.  You  know  that 
each  of  these  feelings  was  caused  by  a  certain  regard  you 
had  for  the  person  whose  name  you  heard.  To  all  such 
feelings  which  arise  from  our  thinking  about  something, 
we  sometimes  loosely  apply  the  term  "emotions." 

A  careful  investigation  of  these  inner  feelings,  as  we 
may  call  them,  soon  reveals  the  fact  that  they  are  not  all 
of  the  same  kind  or  class.  Some  of  these  inner  feelings 
always  seem  to  do  us  good;  others  always  seem  to  do  us 
harm.  We  are  all  familiar  with  the  scriptural  proverb: 
"A  merry  laugh  doeth  good  like  a  medicine."  We  have 
also  often  heard  the  saying:  "Worry  wears  worse  than 
work."  Since  'both  mirth  and  worry  start  from  our  think- 
ing of  something,  these  old  sayings  would  suggest  that  there 
are  at  least  two  distinct  kinds  of  feelings  which  arise 


33°          THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR  SOURCES 

within  us.  These  proverbs  suggest  also  that  the  feelings 
of  one  of  these  kinds  are  to  be  desired,  and  that  the  feel- 
ings of  the  other  kind  are  to  be  avoided.  If  this  is  the 
case,  it  is  very  important  that  we  come  to  know  the  differ- 
ence between  these  two  kinds  of  feelings  and  the  causes 
of  each  kind. 

As  I  sit  here  in  my  study,  I  see  several  boys  at  play. 
One  strikes  another  a  sounding  whack  upon  the  back.  The 
boy  struck  turns  quickly  upon  the  other  with  his  clenched 
fist  raised  as  if  to  knock  down  the  offender.  He  stops 
short,  however,  when  he  sees  that  the  blow  was  struck 
in  play  by  his  best  friend.  "You  rascal/'  he  says,  and  his 
fist  falls  with  a  playful  thump  on  the  arm  of  the  play-mate. 
Both  boys  laugh  and  seem  the  happier  and  the  stronger  for 
the  experience.  Again  the  boy  who  was  first  struck  is  at 
play  when  another  boy  hits  him  upon  the  back.  The  one 
struck  remembers  the  friendly  blow.  He  smiles,  and  turns 
round — but  stops  suddenly!  He  sees  before  him  the 
angry  face  of  his  enemy.  Instantly  his  anger  is  hot,  and  he 
deals  a  vicious  blow.  To  look  at  him  now  is  to  realize 
that  he  is  filled  with  a  feeling  that  is  doing  him  harm  rather 
than  good — is  destroying  his  abilities.  This  feeling  has 
instantly  made  him  weaker  in  ability  to  reason  and  to 
control  himself.  It  has  made  him  weaker  in  ability  to  enjoy 
himself.  It  has  even  made  him  weaker  in  physical  ability. 
In  other  words,  his  three  natures,  life,  mind  and  soul,  are 
all  impaired  by  the  feeling  that  has  been  generated  within 
him.  There  is  certainly  the  greatest  possible  difference  be- 
tween the  feeling  this  boy  had  the  first  time  he  was  struck 
and  the  feeling  he  had  the  second  time,  yet  both  these 


THE  THREE  KINDS  OF  FEELINGS  33! 

feelings  arose  in  his  mind  and  came  from  the  regard  this 
boy  had  for  the  boy  who  struck  him. 

Let  iis  consider  another  example :  Two  sisters  were  con- 
stant companions.  The  love  of  the  younger  for  the  elder 
amounted  to  devotion.  While  the  elder  sister  lived,  the 
younger  girl  was  hale,  hearty  and  happy.  Just  to  think 
of  her  sister  made  the  younger  completely  happy.  Re- 
cently the  elder  sister  died.  The  intense  love  of  the  younger 
sister  for  the  departed  one,  made  her  think  day  and  night 
of  the  companionship  she  had  had.  It  made  her  feel  that 
she  could  not  give  up  that  companionship.  In  a  short  time 
she  died  from  grief.  Surely  there  could  be  no  greater 
difference  between  two  feelings  than  there  was  between 
the  feeling  that  made  this  girl  happy  and  the  feeling  that 
made  her  unhappy  and  finally  caused  her  death.  Yet  it  is 
obvious  that  both  these  feelings  arose  in  the  mind  and  that 
both  were  caused  (in  part,  at  least)  by  this  girl's  thinking 
about  her  sister. 

The  cases  just  examined  (both  taken  from  the  personal 
observations  of  the  present  writer)  and  many  others  which 
may  be  found  on  every  hand,  prove  to  us  that  the  feelings 
which  arise  in  the  mind,  and  which  are  all,  sometimes, 
loosely  called  "emotions,"  are  of  two  distinct  kinds.  These 
observations  also  prove  that  one  of  these  kinds  of  feelings 
is  very  desirable  and  that  the  other  is  very  undesirable. 
The  first  kind  we  call  CONSTRUCTIVE  EMOTIONS.  The  sec- 
ond kind  we  call  DESTRUCTIVE  EMOTIONS.  The  significance 
of  the  names  is  clear  when  we  consider  that  the  feelings 
of  one  kind  construct  or  build  up  all  the  powers  of  the 
person  who  has  these  feelings,  while  those  of  the  other 


332  THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR  SOURCES 

kind  tear  down  or  destroy  the  powers  of  the  person  in  whom 
they  arise. 

That  we  are  more  than  warranted  in  calling  the  two 
kinds  of  emotion  "constructive"  and  "destructive,"  is 
proved,  not  only  by  the  original  experiments  and  observa- 
tions we  have  made,  but  also  by  the  testimony  of  some 
of  the  greatest  thinkers.  Professor  Bain  (Mind  and  Body, 
Ch.  IV)  declares  that  "states  of  pleasure  are  connected 
with  an  increase;  states  of  pain,  with  a  decrease,  of  some 
or  all  of  the  vital  functions."  Hobbes  and  Leibnitz  hold 
the  same  view.  Hoffding  (Psych.,  p.  272,  transl.)  says: 
"Pleasure  is  the  expression  of  heightened  life;  pain,  the 
forerunner  of  death."  Dagonet  (Traite  des  Maladies 
Mental,  pp.  360  et  seq.)  shows  how  persons  nave  lost  their 
health  through  melancholia  (destructive  emotion  in  ex- 
treme form)  and,  later,  have  become  exceedingly  vigorous 
when  they  became  megalomaniacs  (constructive  emotion  in 
exaggerated  form).  Ribot  (Psychology  of  the  Emotions, 
p.  120)  discovers  that  whenever  the  body  experiences  emo- 
tion, intense  "chemical  action  is  going  on  in  the  tissues  and 
fluids  of  the  organism."  We  all  know  that: 

When  intense  chemical  action  is  going  on  in  any  or- 
ganism, that  organism  is  either  being  built  up  or  torn 
down;  hence,  real  emotion  is  always  constructive  or 
destructive. 

Dr.  Morton  Prince  (The  Dissociation  of  a  Personality, 
p.  22)  says:  "Particular  emotional  states,  like  fear  or 
anxiety,  or  general  mental  distress,  have  the  tendency  to 
disintegrate  the  mental  organization  in  such  a  way  that  the 
normal  associations  become  severed  or  loosened."  Un- 


THE  THREE  KINDS  OF  FEELINGS  333 

questionably,  some  emotions  are  destructive;  and  just  as 
certainly  other  emotions  are  strongly  constructive. 

We  have  now  found  three  kinds  of  feelings  which  we 
are  capable  of  having.  They  are  the  Sensational  Feelings, 
Constructive  Emotions,  and  Destructive  Emotions.  We 
have  also  found  the  second  and  final  reason  why  some 
persons  think  emotion  a  bad  thing.  (We  noted  the  first 
reason  on  p.  328.)  Whenever  a  person  who  loves  control 
and  hates  weakness,  sees  anyone  "beside  himself"  with 
grief  or  anger,  or  any  other  of  the  destructive  emotions, 
what  is  the  result?  The  observer  is  practically  sure  to 
decide  that  the  person  observed  would  be  much  better  off 
if  he  would  learn  to  suppress  all  emotion.  Investigation 
has  proved  that  this  is  how  emotion  has  come  to  have  the 
bad  name  it  has  with  many  people. 

They  have  failed  to  discover  that  there  are  good  and 
bad  emotions,  and  have,  unjustly,  and  unwisely,  con- 
demned the  good  with  the  bad. 

It  goes  without  the  saying  that  the  destructive  emotions 
are  bad,  and  that  all  emotions  of  this  class  (fear,  dread, 
horror,  excitement,  anger,  hatred,  revenge,  envy,  jealousy, 
sadness,  grief,  etc.)  should  be  suppressed  in  our  educa- 
tional development ;  but : 

Let  us  not  make  the  fatal  error  of  attempting  to  sup- 
press those  feelings  which  give  us  larger  lives,  larger 
thoughts,  and  larger  souls.  Such  feelings  are  the  emo- 
tions of  faith,  love,  courage,  gratitude,  joy,  happiness,  etc. 
These  are  the  best  friends  of  the  speaker,  and  these  the 
student  of  speech  must  cultivate  if  he  would  do  his  best 
work. 


334          THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR  SOURCES 


THE   SOURCES   OF   THE   EMOTIONS 

Since  we  desire  to  rid  ourselves  of  our  destructive  emo- 
tions the  first  thing  to  do,  is  to  find  the  cause  of  these 
feelings,  and  then  remove  the  cause.  Since  we  desire  to 
develop  our  constructive  emotions,  the  first  thing,  with 
them,  is  to  find  the  cause  of  these  feelings  and  then  de- 
velop that  cause.  Let  us,  then,  try  to  find  the  cause  of 
each.  Let  us  consider  again  the  cases  of  the  boys  at  play, 
cited  above  (pp.  330-331).  The  boy  who  was  first  struck, 
turned  around  with  an  attitude  of  bitter  resentment,  but, 
on  seeing  his  friend,  his  attitude  changed  to  one  of  friend- 
liness, and  he  became  filled  with  constructive  emotion.  The 
next  time  this  boy  was  struck,  he  turned  around  with  an 
attitude  of  friendliness,  but,  on  seeing  his  enemy,  his  atti- 
tude changed  to  one  of  bitter  resentment,  and  he  became 
filled  with  destructive  emotion.  It  would  appear,  then,  that 
each  of  these  two  kinds  of  emotion  starts  in  a  certain 
attitude  of  the  mind.  Ribot  (Pshch.  of  the  Emotions,  153) 
asks  this  question:  "Does  not  the  recollection  of  a  foolish 
action  make  one  blush?"  This  is  a  good  example  of  the 
part  that  attitude  of  the  mind  plays,  not  only  in  forming, 
but  also  in  reviving  an  emotional  state — an  important 
thought  for  the  speaker,  for : 

He  must  constantly  be  performing  both  these  acts, 
forming  and  reviving  emotion. 

Then,  if  each  of  these  two  kinds  of  feelings,  the  com- 
structive  and  the  destructive  emotions,  starts  in  a  simple 
attitude  of  the  mind,  and  if  the  vast  difference  between  our 
feelings  when  they  are  best  and  when  they  are  worst,  is 


THE  SOURCES  OF  THE  EMOTIONS  335 

the  direct  result  of  our  taking  one  kind  or  another  kind 
of  attitude,  then  it  is  clear  that : 

If  we  wish  to  control  and  develop  our  emotions,  as 
we  must  do  if  we  hope  to  do  effective  speaking,  we  must 
find  what  causes  us  to  take  different  attitudes  of  mind. 

If  we  examine  again  the  case  of  the  boy  who  assumed 
the  two  very  different  attitudes,  we  easily  discover  (as  we 
found  in  our  study  of  Action  and  its  Causes)  that  each 
attitude  was  caused  by  the  thing  which  he,  that  moment, 
recognized.  In  the  one  case,  he  recognized  a  friend  (some- 
thing that  could  help  him),  and  he  assumed  an  attitude 
from  which  grew  constructive  emotions.  In  the  other  case, 
he  recognized  an  enemy  (something  that  could  harm  him), 
and  he  assumed  an  attitude  from  which  grew  destructive 
emotions.  The  same  principle  will  be  found  in  every  ex- 
ample of  real  emotion  which  we  may  examine.  On  this 
point  we  quote  Ribot  (Psych,  of  the  Emotions t  214-215)  : 
"The  cause  is  in  some  event  of  a  man's  previous  life,  of 
which  he  retains  a  recollection.'*  He  may  not  be  able  to 
recall  just  what  it  was  that  gave  him  an  attitude  of  at- 
traction or  repulsion,  or  when  it  was  that  he  experienced 
that  thing,  but  his  mind  still  holds  a  conception  of  some- 
thing like  the  thing  that  now  affects  him. 

The  basic  cause  of  an  emotion  is  always  a  conception. 
When  we  have  a  constructive  emotion,  it  is  caused  by 
our  recognizing,  in  the  thing  contemplated,  something 
that  will  help  us;  when  we  have  a  destructive  emotion, 
it  is  caused  by  our  recognizing,  in  the  thing  contem- 
plated, something  that  will  harm  or  hinder  us. 

It  is  easy  to  see,  however,  that  while  conception  is  the 
basic  cause  of  every  real  emotion,  it  is  not  the  whole  cause. 


THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR  SOURCES 

Something  must  happen  to  a  conception,  something 
more  than  merely  taking  an  attitude  toward  it,  before  it 
can  produce  an  emotion,  at  least  before  it  can  produce 
an  emotion  strong  enough  to  be  effective  in  public  speaking. 

This  thought  brings  before  us  one  of  the  most  interesting 
and  essential  points  in  the  study  of  the  emotions  for  speak- 
ing, namely: 


THE  RELATION  OF  BODILY  ACTION  TO  EMOTION 
The  Two  Theories 

During  the  last  thirty-five  years,  a  great  psychological 
battle  has  been  fought  on  this  question  as  to  how  much  the 
actions  of  the  body  have  to  do  with  the  production  of 
emotion,  and  when  they  affect  the  growth  of  an  emotion. 
Before  1885,  men  had  always  believed  that  emotion  caused 
the  body  to  act,  but,  in  1885,  two  of  the  greatest  thinkers, 
Dr.  James  of  Harvard  University,  and  Dr.  Lange,  of 
Copenhagen,  startled  the  thinking  world  by  declaring  that 
this  is  the  very  opposite  to  the  truth.  Both  these  men 
came  forth,  almost  simultaneously,  with  the  doctrine  that 
bodily  actions  cause  emotion.  Since  both  Dr.  James  and 
Dr.  Lange  had  proclaimed  the  doctrine,  it  is  called  the 
James-Lange  theory. 

A  few  brief  illustrations  will  show  us  just  what  this 
theory  is.  Dr.  James  (Psych.  II,  449-450)  says: 

Common  sense  says,  we  lose  our  fortune,  are  sorry  and 
weep ;  we  meet  a  bear,  are  frightened  and  run ;  we  are  insulted 
by  a  rival,  are  angry  and  strike.  .  .  .  My  theory  says  that  we 


THE  RELATION  OF  BODILY  ACTION  TO  EMOTION  337 

feel  sorry  because  we  cry,  we  feel  angry  because  we  strike, 
we  feel  afraid  because  we  tremble. 

Now  we  believe  that  both  the  old  and  the  new  theories 
are  right  and  that  both  are  wrong.  Each  one  is  right  in 
part  and  each  one  is  wrong  in  part.  Let  us  first  consider 
wherein  the  old  theory  is  true.  This  theory  claimed  that 
our  feelings  cause  our  actions,  that  if  we  strike  to  hurt 
someone,  we  do  so  because  we  have  first  become  angry 
at  that  person.  Most  of  us  are  ready  to  testify  that  we 
have  often  felt  intense  feeling  before  we  let  ourselves  act. 
We  have  been  very  angry  many  times  just  before  we 
expressed  our  anger,  either  by  striking,  or  by  calling  the 
other  person  names.  We  have  sometimes  been  angry  when 
we  did  not  allow  ourselves  to  strike,  or  otherwise  express 
our  anger — when  we  compelled  ourselves  to  remain  quiet. 
We  have  been  intensely  amused  before  we  allowed  our 
feelings  to  burst  forth  in  laughter.  Sometimes  we  felt  that 
things  were  so  funny  that  we  could  scarcely  contain  our- 
selves, and  yet  did  not  allow  ourselves  to  laugh.  If  we 
trace  our  experiences  through  all  the  emotions,  we  shall 
find  the  same  things  to  be  true.  Then,  since  we  often  ex- 
perience intense  feeling  just  before  the  bodily  action  takes 
place,  it  would  seem  that  there  is  some  ground  for  the 
notion  that  the  feeling  causes  the  action.  But,  since  we 
sometimes  experience  the  feeling  and  yet  do  not  act,  it  is 
clear  that  there  is  some  other  cause  of  action,  than  our 
feelings.  So  the  old  theory  is,  at  best,  only  partly  true.  We 
shall  return  to  consider  it  later. 

Now  let  us  find  the  truth  in  the  James-Lange  notion,  that 
our  actions  cause  our  emotions.  Most  of  us  will  admit 
that  we  have  had  intense  feeling  just  after  our  bodies  have 


338          THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR  SOURCES 

acted  on  some  thought.  We  have  seen  but  little  humor  in 
a  certain  thing  till  we  began  to  laugh,  and  then  we  became 
so  completely  filled  with  laughter  that  we  almost  went  into 
hysterics.  We  have  felt  but  slight  resentment  toward  some 
one,  till  we  struck  the  first  blow ;  but,  when  that  blow  was 
struck,  our  anger  was  doubled  many  times,  and,  with  each 
succeeding  blow,  our  anger  rose  to  greater  heat.  In  these 
and  many  other  instances  which  we  could  call  up  from  our 
own  experiences,  it  seems  that  the  new  theory  may  be  true, 
that  the  action  does  cause  the  emotion.  But  what  shall  we 
say  of  that  experience  when  we  struck  a  blow  and  then 
were  immediately  sorry?  Surely,  if  we  are  consistent,  we 
will  admit  that  if  the  action  causes  the  feeling,  then  the 
same  kind  of  action  will  cause  the  same  kind  of  feeling  at 
one  time  as  it  caused  at  another  time.  A  blow  will  not, 
at  one  time,  produce  anger  and,  at  another  time,  produce 
sorrow  which  is  the  opposite  to  anger.  Or  what  shall  we 
say  of  that  experience  when  we  struck  a  blow  and  immedi- 
ately found  our  anger  satisfied  and  abated?  Surely  action 
did  not  cause  emotion  in  that  case.  It  rather  seems  to 
have  destroyed  the  emotion  than  to  have  caused  it.  So  we 
find  that  the  new  theory,  like  the  old  one,  is,  at  best,  only 
partially  true. 

The  error  in  both  these  notions,  lies  in  the  fact  that  they 
do  not  go  deep  enough  to  find  the  real  cause  of  emotion. 
The  supporters  of  both  these  theories  are  just  a  little  guilty 
of  the  ancient  error  of  "post  hoc  ergo  propter  hoc,"  the 
belief  that  because  a  thing  comes  after  another  thing,  there- 
fore it  is  caused  by  that  other  thing.  Each  of  the  two 
things,  action  and  emotion,  as  we  have  just  seen,  may  seem 
to  cause  the  other.  Each  may,  and  often  does,  come  after 


THE  RELATION  OF  BODILY  ACTION  TO  EMOTION   339 

the  other.  Each,  in  turn,  may  be  stronger  because  it  comes 
after  the  other;  but  each  one  is  the  result  of  a  deeper  and 
more  fundamental  cause. 

The  fundamental  cause  of  emotion  is  Conception. 
Whenever  we  have  a  real  emotion,  it  is  caused  by  our 
recognising,  in  the  thing  toward  which  we  have  the  emotion, 
the  ability  to  help  or  harm  us,  or  to  help  or  harm  the  sub- 
ject of  which  we  that  moment  think.  (See  pp.  334-335.) 
This  act  of  recognizing,  as  we  have  learned,  is  Conception. 

In  our  study  of  Bodily  Action,  we  found  precisely  the 
same  cause.  We  learned  that  all  intelligent,  purposeful 
action  is  caused  not  only  by  a  conception,  but  by  the  very 
same  conception  which  we  now  find  to  be  the  fundamental 
cause  of  all  true  emotion,  namely,  a  conception  of  some- 
thing that  will  help  or  hinder  us. 

From  these  two  discoveries,  what  are  we  to  conclude? 
Are  we  warranted  in  deciding  that  action  and  emotion  are 
one  and  the  same  thing,  inasmuch  as  they  arise  from  the 
same  cause  ?  The  thoughtful  student  of  speech  can  see  that 
this  would  be  a  fatal  error.  To  admit  that  action  and 
emotion  are  one  and  the  same  thing,  would  force  us  next 
to  admit  that  whenever  emotion  is  needed,  all  we  have  to  do 
is  to  indulge  some  bodily  action.  Of  all  things  which  might 
happen  to  speech,  that  would  be  about  the  worst.  The  fun- 
damental reason  why  we  must  not  confound  action  and 
emotion,  is  this:  while  both  action  and  emotion  arise  in 
the  same  mental  process,  yet  the  bodily  action  may  be  re- 
produced by  reflex  action  of  the  nerves,  without  the  mental 
process  which  first  produced  them  both,  while  emotion  re- 
quires the  mental  process  every  time  it  is  produced. 
This  is  so  from  the  very  nature  of  emotion.  The  instant 


340          THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR  SOURCES 

the  mental  and  the  bodily  processes  are  separated,  the 
emotion  dies.  We  may  turn  our  minds  to  the  thing  that 
formerly  caused  any  emotion  and  we  may  think  about  that 
thing  as  long  as  we  please,  but  unless  we  assume  again 
toward  that  thing  such  as  attitude  as  will  cause  us  again 
to  act  upon  that  thing  or  be  acted  upon  by  it,  we  will 
have  no  emotion.  In  other  words,  unless  we  again  use 
our  bodies,  literally  or  in  imagination,  as  they  were  used 
when  the  emotion  was  first  produced,  the  emotion  will  not 
be  reproduced.  We  have  made  the  test  hundreds  of  times 
and  it  has  never  failed  to  prove  this  a  true  law.  Nor  do  we 
rely  on  our  own  experiments  alone  to  prove  this  principle. 
Dr.  James  is  strong  in  his  adherence  to  this  law  of  emotion. 
He  says  (Psychology  II,  451)  :  "If  we  fancy  some  strong 
emotion,  and  then  try  to  abstract  from  our  consciousness 
of  it  all  the  feelings  of  its  bodily  symptoms,  we  find  we  have 
nothing  left  behind/'  Let  the  student  make  the  test  and 
he  will  find  that  he  can  do  any  of  the  three  following 
things:  i.  He  can  turn  his  mind  to  a  conception  which 
formerly  produced  an  emotion  and  think  about  that  con- 
ception without  producing  in  himself  either  action  or 
emotion.  2.  He  can  voluntarily  reproduce  the  action  which 
formerly  accompanied  his  emotion  and  yet  not  have  the 
emotion. «  3.  He  may  so  turn  his  mind  to  that  conception 
and  so  hold  his  mind  upon  that  conception  as  to  reproduce 
both  the  mental  and  physical  processes  which  he  experi- 
enced when  he  had  the  emotion.  When  he  does  the  latter, 
he  will  then  have  the  emotion.  Ribot  (Psychology  of  the 
Emotions,  p.  112)  says:  "Organic  and  motor  manifestations 
are  not  accessories.  They  are  part  of  the  emotion."  SQ 
they  are,  the  physical  part  of  emotion. 


THE  RELATION  OF  BODILY  ACTION  TO  EMOTION   34! 

Action  is  but  the  physical  part  of  the  process  by  which 
emotion  is  produced,  when  the  mind  and  the  body  are 
acting  simultaneously  toward  the  object  which  causes 
the  emotion. 

These  observations  also  define  constructive  emotion: 

Constructive  emotion  is  the  immediate  evidence  of  the 
union  and  co-operation  of  the  mind  and  the  body  as  they 
work  together  to  gain  something  earnestly  hoped  for. 

Let  us  see  how  my  theory  conforms  with  the  old  and  the 
new  theories  which  we  have  considered.  Is  it  not  clear 
that  it  preserves  them  both?  Neither  the  old  nor  the  new 
theory  would  accept  or  admit  the  other;  and  therein  lay 
the  error  of  both.  My  theory  accepts  and  preserves  both, 
by  showing  how  each  needs  the  other.  Emotion  does  start 
in  the  mind  (as  the  old  theory  declared)  and  it  does  start 
in  the  body  (as  the  James-Lange  theory  declared),  but 
only  when  mind  and  body  are  simultaneously  affected  by 
the  thing  considered. 

The  mind  must  start  the  emotion,  and  must  continue  to 
hold  its  definite  attitude  toward  the  thing  causing  the 
emotion,  or  the  emotion  instantly  dies.  But  the  body  also 
starts  the  emotion,  for  only  through  the  body  do  we  feel. 

The  mind  finds  the  thing  that  can  make  us  feel,  but 
the  body  must  let  that  thing  affect  it. 

Until  it  does  so,  there  is  no  emotion.  More  than  that,  the 
body  must  continue  to  be  affected  (to  be  used,  if  you  please) 
by  the  thing  causing  the  emotion;  for,  even  when  a  good 
emotion  is  started,  that  emotion  dies  the  instant  the  body 
ceases  to  be  affected  by  the  thing  thought  about.  Let  the 
student  make  the  test  and  he  will  find  these  to  be  the  in- 
evitable results. 


342          THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR  SOURCES 

From  these  facts  it  is  clear  that  either  of  the  two  mooted 
theories,  stated  above,  if  it  stand  alone,  is  a  false  guide  for 
the  student  of  speaking,  and  cannot  lead  him  into  that  true 
and  full  emotion  which  effective  speaking  demands.  The 
old  theory  said  the  mind  produces  the  feeling  and  that  the 
feeling  produces  action.  If  a  speaker  follows  this  theory, 
what  is  the  result?  There  are  numerous  examples  all 
around  us,  which  answer  the  question.  Let  the  student 
make  a  study  of  any  speaker  who  has  decided  to  think 
himself  into  emotion,  without  the  use  of  action,  and  he 
will  find  that  speaker  growing  less  and  less  emotional.  More 
than  this,  you  will  find  that  the  speaking  of  that  man 
grows  less  and  less  effective. 

The  James-Lange  theory  (see  p.  336  above)  says  that 
bodily  action  causes  emotion.  What  is  the  result  if  a 
speaker  tries  to  produce  feeling  according  to  this  recipe? 
We  have  tried  this  plan  on  hundreds  of  students  of  all 
kinds  of  temperaments.  The  result  of  these  investigations 
has  been  this.  We  have  found  that  whenever  a  speaker 
tries  to  work  himself  up  into  an  emotional  state  by  using 
bodily  actions,  the  speaking  is  even  worse  than  it  is  when 
the  speaker  tries  to  think  himself  into  emotion  without  using 
action.  The  latter  method  starves  the  speech  by  giving  it 
no  emotion;  but  to  try  to  work  up  emotion  by  performing 
certain  actions,  substitutes  a  false  emotion  for  a  real  one, 
which  is  far  worse  in  speaking  than  to  have  no  emotion. 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  believe  how  bad  will  be  the 
results  that  can  come  from  applying  this  James-Lange 
theory  to  speaking.  This  is  shown  in  a  striking  manner  in 
a  recent  publication.  The  book  to  which  we  refer  explains 
this  theory  at  some  length,  accepts  it,  and  then  proceeds  to 


THE  RELATION  OF  BODILY  ACTION  TO  EMOTION   343 

apply  it  to  the  work  of  the  speaker.    We  quote  from  this 
book,  the  following: 

If  the  bodily  symptoms  of  an  emotion  are  the  direct  cause 
of  it,  what  would  happen  if  we  should  voluntarily  produce 
these  symptoms,  though  there  were  no  logical  reason  for  the 
emotion?  The  answer  would  of  necessity  follow  that  crying 
would  produce  sorrow  and  laughing  would  produce  joy.  .  .  . 
Let  anyone  attempt  to  produce  within  himself  all  the  real 
symptoms  of  an  emotion  with  which  he  is  familiar,  and  he 
may  be  surprised,  if  the  attempt  be  novel,  to  discover  that  the 
emotion  is  actually  produced. 

When  we  first  read  these  statements,  we  are  apt  to  think 
that  the  author  intended  them  as  a  joke.  A  more  careful 
reading,  however,  shows  us  that  he  meant  them  in  all  seri- 
ousness, impossible  as  that  may  seem.  It  only  shows  how 
far  we  may  be  led  astray  in  our  efforts  to  produce  natural 
and  effective  speaking,  if  we  accept  the  James-Lange  theory 
of  the  emotions. 

Even  if  real  feeling  could  be  produced  in  this  way,  it  is 
one  of  the  worst  things  a  speaker  can  attempt,  for  it  takes 
his  mind  away  from  his  subject  and  sets  him  to  performing 
elocutionary  tricks.  Let  the  student  try  to  develop  his  feel- 
ings in  the  shallow,  superficial  manner  suggested  by  the 
statements  quoted  in  the  second  paragraph  above,  and  his 
speaking  will  be  nothing  but  an  exhibition  of  face-making, 
of  hollow  laughter,  or  "crocodile  tears,"  disgusting  to  all 
sound-minded  people.  It  is  just  such  attempts  to  substitute 
some  artificial,  mechanical  method  for  nature's  own  way  of 
producing  effective  speaking,  which  have  given  to  "elocu- 
tion" and  "oratory"  the  bad  name  they  have  so  long  had. 

Since  it  is  clear  that  the  action  of  the  body  must  join  the 
action  of  the  mind  to  bring  forth  an  emotion,  the  question 
arises : 


344  THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR  SOURCES 

What  causes  the  body  to  join  its  action  with  the 
action  of  the  mind?  We  shall  see  that  this  is  done 
through  the 


PROCESS  OF  FAITHING  OR  THE  PROCESS  OF  FEARING 

Whenever  the  body  begins  to  feel  some  effect  from  any- 
thing thought  about,  it  does  so  because  we  have  begun  to 
faith  or  to  fear  the  thing"  thought  about.  What  is  it  to 
faith  or  to  fear?  Most  of  us  have  at  least  a  general  notion 
of  what  it  is  to  fear,  but  very  few  have  what  could  be 
called  a  working  knowledge  of  the  term  "to  faith/'  St. 
Paul,  one  of  the  greatest  psychologists  the  world  has  ever 
known,  denned  faith  as  "the  substance  of  things  hoped 
for."  Probably  no  better  definition  could  be  given  than 
this  one  when  it  is  rightly  understood.  Notice  where  we 
have  placed  the  emphasis.  We  have  placed  it  on  "the  sub- 
stance" It  is  a  significant  fact  that  most  persons,  in  in- 
terpreting this  definition  of  St.  Paul's,  throw  the  emphasis 
on  "hoped"  making  the  definition  read  "Faith  is  the  sub- 
stance of  things  hoped  for."  Such  a  reading  destroys  the 
value  of  the  definition.  St.  Paul  caught  the  vital  truth 
that  "to  faith"  means  to  catch,  right  now,  on  the  instant,  the 
substance  of  the  thing  we  this  moment  hope  for,  or  wish 
we  had.  To  faith,  then,  is  to  begin  to  realize  what  it  would 
be  to  have  the  thing  we  wish  we  had. 

This  makes  faith  a  very  active  thing.  It  is  no  longer  a 
synonym  for  "trust,"  as  many  persons  are  inclined  to  re- 
gard it.  Trust  is  a  negative,  yielding  process;  faith  is  an 
active,  building  process.  To  trust  is  to  give  one's  self  over 


PROCESS  OF  FAITHING  OR  FEARING  345 

into  the  hands  of  the  person  or  thing  trusted,  and  wait  for 
something  wished  for;  to  faith  is  to  set  about  getting  the 
thing  hoped  for.  That  most  persons  give  to  "faith"  the 
same  meaning  as  they  do  to  "trust,"  is  shown,  not  only 
by  the  fact  that  nearly  every  person  asked  to  define  faith 
will  say  "faith  is  trust/'  but  also  by  the  fact  that  all  the 
makers  of  dictionaries  have  failed  to  realize  that  faith  is  a 
verb  as  well  as  a  noun.  We  have  contended,  for  years, 
that  it  is  one  of  the  most  active  verbs  in  the  language;  yet, 
so  far  as  we  know,  only  one  writer  has  been  progressive 
enough  to  use  the  word  "faith"  as  a  verb.  That  writer  is 
Dr.  Isaac  T.  Headland,  formerly  of  the  University  of 
Peking,  whose  writings  show  that  the  reason  he  does  this,  is 
that  he  realizes,  as  others  have  not  done,  the  value  and  the 
power  of  faith.  We  believe  that  the  time  is  soon  coming 
when  every  dictionary  will  class  "to  faith"  as  an  active  verb. 
And  why  should  they  not?  We  speak  of  "imagining,"  of 
"reasoning,"  of  "understanding,"  of  "loving,"  "fearing," 
"trusting,"  etc.  We  think  nothing  of  regarding  all  these  as 
verbs,  yet  "to  faith"  is  the  most  intense  action  of  which  the 
human  make-up  is  capable,  unless  it  be  "to  love."  Let  us, 
then,  as  students  of  speaking,  where  so  much  active  faith- 
ing  will  be  required  of  us,  let  us  regard  faith  as'one  of  the 
most  active  of  the  verbs. 

Before  we  follow  the  study  of  faithirig  any  farther,  we 
must  clearly  understand  what  it  is  to  fear.  Ask  the  aver- 
age child  what  it  is  to  fear,  and  he  will  probably  reply: 
"It  means  to  get  scared."  The  present  writer  knew  a  man 
who  had  grown  old  in  body  but  was  still  a  child  in  mind, 
who  was  always  afraid  to  go  alone  in  the  dark.  When 
asked  what  he  was  afraid  of,  he  would  always  reply:  "I'm 


346  THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR  SOURCES 

afeared  I'll  get  skeert."  While  this  poor  fellow  had  what 
is  commonly  regarded  as  a  "feeble"  mind,  he  gave  us  an 
unusually  clear  notion  of  the  substance  of  fearing.  Just 
as  St.  Paul  defined  faith  as  "the  substance  of  things  hoped 
for,"  so  we  may  define  fear  as  the  substance  of  things  not 
desired.  This,  as  you  will  see,  makes  fear  the  very  opposite 
to  faith. 

Just  as  "to  faith"  means  that  we,  at  the  moment,  begin 
to  realize  what  it  would  be  to  have  the  thing  we  that 
moment  wish  we  had,  so  "to  fear"  means  that  we,  at  the 
moment,  begin  to  realize  what  it  would  be  to  have  the 
thing  we  that  moment  wish  to  avoid. 

Now  let  us  see  what  these  two  processes  have  to  do  with 
the  actions  of  our  bodies.  Did  you  ever  learn  to  ride  a 
bicycle?  Can  you  forget  how  you  saw  that  tree  by  the 
side  of  the  road,  and  how  you  began  to  fear  that  you  might 
strike  that  small  tree  instead  of  the  large  road?  Can  you 
forget  that  you  did  just  exactly  what  you  thought  you 
would  do? — exactly  what  you  feared  you  would  do?  You 
turned  from  the  road  and  went  almost  directly  into  that 
tree.  What  caused  you  to  do  that?  From  the  nature  and 
the  process  of  fearing,  is  it  not  clear  that  you  struck  the 
tree  because  you  feared  you  would?  The  instant  you  saw 
the  tree,  you  began  to  imagine  what  it  would  be  to  hit  it. 
You  fixed  your  mind  upon  the  tree  and  upon  the  thought 
of  striking  it,  until  you  began  to  get  "the  substance"  of 
striking  it  that  is,  until  you  began  to  imagine  yourself 
actually  striking  it.  The  moment  you  did  that,  you  made 
it  absolutely  certain  that  you  would  hit  the  tree,  if  your 
mind  continued  to  hold  that  conception  and  that  atti- 
tude, for: 


PROCESS  OF  FAITHING  OR  FEARING  347 

The  instant  the  entire  being  becomes  filled  with  "the 
substance"  of  anything  thought  of,  if  that  substance  is 
action,  then  the  muscles  can  do  nothing  but  perform  that 
action. 

Again  on  this  point,  the  great  mind  of  St.  Paul  has 
given  us  the  law  of  the  mind:  "That  which  I  fear  shall 
come  upon  me."  Let  the  student  perform  as  many  experi- 
ments as  he  likes,  and  he  will  find  this  law  true  whenever 
the  process  of  fearing  is  indulged.  What  fear  has  to  do 
with  bodily  action,  then,  is  clear. 

As  long  as  we  really  fear  a  thing,  our  bodies  will  per- 
form (actually  or  imaginatively)  whatever  actions  are  re- 
quired to  receive  or  experience  the  thing  which  we  wish 
to  avoid. 

A  moment's  careful  thought  will  cause  us  to  realize  what 
Fear  has  to  do  with  Action  and  with  Emotion.  .FEARING 

IS  THE  PROCESS  WHICH  JOINS  THE  ACTION  OF  THE  BODY 
WITH  THE  ACTION  OF  THE  MIND  IN  SUCH  A  WAY  AS  TO  PRO- 
DUCE THE  DESTRUCTIVE  EMOTIONS.  It  is  the  process  which 
develops  a  conception  of  something  undesirable,  into  a 
destructive  emotion.  Is  this  not  clear?  What  causes  us 
to  which  to  avoid  anything  ?  Is  it  not  that  we  have  learned 
that  that  thing  is  an  enemy,  or,  at  least,  a  hindrance  to  us? 
Then,  when  our  minds  persist  in  contemplating  that  hin- 
drance so  earnestly  that  we  imagine  ourselves  actually  ex- 
periencing it,  what  are  we  doing  but  inviting  that  hindrance 
and  suffering  it  to  do  its  worst  with  us?  That  "worst" 
will  be,  to  fill  us  with  destructive  emotion.  Examine  any 
one  of  the  long  list  of  destructive  emotions — fright,  terror, 
dread,  horror,  anger,  hatred,  envy,  jealousy,  sadness,  grief, 
despair,  despondency,  etc. — and  you  will  find  that  it,  and 


34^  THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR  SOURCES 

all  the  bodily  actions  which  support  it,  arise  from  the  proc- 
ess of  fearing.  The  mind  first  runs  afoul  of  some- 
thing it  wishes  to  avoid,  then  proceeds  to  contemplate  how 
bad  it  would  be  to  suffer  that  thing,  until  it  has  the  whoJe 
being,  body  as  well  as  mind,  working  together  receiving 
and  experiencing  that  thing. 

The  instant  we  get  "the  substance"  of  anything  we  wish 
to  avoid,  that  instant  we  invite  disaster  to  our  powers  of 
leadership. 

Certainly  it  is  worth  while  for  the  intending  speaker, 
who  looks  forward  to  his  work  as  leader,  to  train  him- 
self to  avoid  the  process  of  fearing,  and  its  destructive 
consequences. 

These  observations  should  also  make  clear  the  relation 
which  Faith  bears  to  Action  and  Emotion.  Just  as  fear- 
ing is  the  process  which  develops  destructive  or  undesirable 
emotions,  so  FAITHING  is  THE  PROCESS  WHICH  JOINS  THE 

ACTION  OF  THE  BODY  TO  THE  ACTION  OF  THE  MIND  IN  SUCH 
A  WAY  AS  TO  PRODUCE  THE  CONSTRUCTIVE  EMOTIONS.  It  is 

the  process  which  develops  a  conception  of  something  de- 
sirable into  a  constructive  emotion. 

To  illustrate,  suppose  that  you  are  before  an  audience, 
pleading  for  a  child-labor  law.  Naturally,  you  wish  to  have 
the  audience  conceive  definitely  the  acts  they  must  perform 
in  order  to  obtain  that  law,  and  also  the  benefits  the  law 
would  bring.  What  do  you  do?  You  set  your  mind  to 
contemplating  those  things  to  which  you  believe  your 
hearers  must  turn  their  minds — for  instance,  the  opposi- 
tion they  must  overcome.  First,  you  clearly  conceive  that 
opposition  and  what  is  required  to  overcome  it.  You  show 
these  things  to  the  audience,  and,  as  you  do  so,  you  imagine 


PROCESS  OF  FAITHING  OR  FEARING  349 

how  you  would  feel  if  you  were,  this  moment,  meeting  and 
overcoming  that  opposition.  The  immediate  result  is,  that 
you  become  filled  with  the  very  emotion  of  courage  which 
you  wish  to  impart  to  the  audience.  As  you  imagine,  in 
like  manner,  how  you  would  feel,  if,  this  moment,  you  had 
won  the  victory  which  you  wish  the  audience  to  win,  you 
become  filled  with  the  emotions  of  triumph  and  joy  which 
you  wish  your  hearers  to  anticipate,  to  spur  them  on. 
Finally,  as  you  clearly  conceive  some  of  the  actual  benefits 
which  such  a  law  should  bring,  you  imagine  that  you  see 
those  benefits  now  taking  place.  Soon  you  realize  what  it 
would  be  to  be  one  .of  those  children  whose  lives  are  made 
freer  and  happier  by  the  law  contemplated.  When  you 
can  do  this,  you  can  easily  show  the  audience  the  happiness 
they  will  enjoy  when  they  have  done  the  thing  for  which 
you  plead.  When  you  have  finished,  you  will  realize  that 
the  success  of  your  entire  plea  has  depended  on  your  being 
able,  while  speaking,  to  get  "the  substance"  of  the  thing  for 
which  you  plead.  In  other  words,  it  depended  on  the  proc- 
ess of  faithing,  by  which  you  developed  your  constructive 
emotions. 

Examine  any  one  of  the  many  constructive  emotions — 
happiness,  mirth,  joy,  confidence,  courage,  benevolence, 
love,  devotion,  and  others — and  you  will  find  that  it  is  de- 
veloped, in  this  same  way,  through  the  process  of  faithing. 
The  mind  first  discerns  something  which  it  wishes  to  re- 
ceive, then  proceeds  to  contemplate  how  good  it  would  be 
to  have  that  thing,  until  it  has  the  whole  being  (body  as 
well  as  mind)  working  together  to  receive  that  thing.  Out 
of  this  process,  instantly  springs  some  constructive  emotion. 

What  could  be  of  greater  value  to  the  speaker  or  to  the 


350          THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR  SOURCES 

audience?  The  thing  the  speaker  desires  (or  should  desire) 
out  of  which  a  constructive  emotion  may  arise,  is  some- 
thing that  will  bring  a  larger  and  better  experience  to  his 
audience.  The  moment  he  has  clearly  conceived  such  a 
thing,  and  actively  faiths  it,  until  he  is  rilled  with  the  con- 
structive emotion  which  it  breeds,  the  speaker  himself  feels 
that  larger  experience  which  he  wishes  for  his  audience. 
He  instantly  sees  with  a  larger  vision,  feels  with  a  larger 
heart,  acts  with  a  larger  body — becomes  a  larger  man.  In 
short,  he  has  become,  through  this  very  process,  the  leader 
which  it  is  the  speaker's  duty  to  be.  As  long  as  the  speaker 
or  the  reader  continues  actively  to  faith  things  sanely  con- 
ceived, he  will  not  only  be  a  leader  but  a  true  leader. 


THE  RELATION  BETWEEN  FAITHING  AND   COMMUNI- 
CATING 

Another  important  thing  for  the  student  of  speaking,  is 
that  he  realize  the  relation  between  the  process  of  faithing 
and  the  act  of  communicating  his  ideas  to  others.  One  of 
the  philosophers  has  said  it  is  better  that  we  should  speak 
our  good  thoughts  to  a  stone  by  the  road-side  than  to  let 
them  lie  unspoken.  If  that  is  true,  it  is  worth  thinking 
about.  If  it  is  true,  why  is  it  true?  What  makes  it  better 
for  us,  who  do  the  speaking,  to  speak  a  good  thought  even 
if  no  one  else  hears  it? 

Before  we  attempt  to  answer  these  questions,  let  us  see 
if  we  can  find  more  evidence  than  merely  this  man's  testi- 
mony, on  this  interesting  principle.  Have  you  ever  studied 
the  child  who  plays  only  by  himself?  If  you  have  not,  do 


FAITHING  AND  COMMUNICATING  351 

so  at  the  first  opportunity.  If  the  child  plays  absolutely 
alone,  as  in  two  cases  the  author  of  this  book  has  observed, 
with  not  even  an  interested  parent  to  whom  to  talk  about 
his  games  or  his  toys,  you  will  find  that,  day  by  day,  week 
by  week,  and  month  by  month,  that  child's  faithing  power 
becomes  less  and  less.  Finally  he  comes  to  the  condition 
where  he  scarcely  seems  able  to  get  "the  substance"  of 
anything  hoped  for.  Indeed,  he  seems  hardly  to  hope. 

Observe  another  child,  one  who  has  been  taught  to  share 
his  toys,  his  "good  things,"  and  his  pleasures  with  some 
of  his  little  friends.  If  he' is  a  normally  healthy  boy,  you 
will  find  his  faithing  process  growing  constantly,  growing 
as  rapidly  as  a  canna  in  rich  loose  soil,  in  hot  weather,  after 
a  good  rain.  You  will  find  this  boy  constantly  getting  "the 
substance"  of  things  hoped  for,  constantly  telling  his  com- 
panions of  some  new  fun  they  can  have,  some  new  game  or 
new  scheme  he  has  thought  out,  some  new  beings  they  can 
imagine  themselves,  etc.,  etc.  He  has  a  better  time  than 
anybody  else.  He  is  literally  bubbling  over  with  good  time 
which  he  pours  out  to  his  playmates.  He  faiths  everything. 

Does  the  difference  between  these  two  boys  lie  in  the  fact 
that  one  of  them  has  communicated  his  pleasures  and  the 
other  has  not  ?  When  the  second  boy  became  filled  with  the 
desire  to  impart  his  first  pleasure,  what  happened  to  him? 
Impersonate  him  and  you  will  discover  that  when  he  be- 
comes engrossed  with  an  intense  hope  that  his  friend  will 
get  as  great  pleasure  as  he  gets,  this  causes  him  to  live  again 
his  own  pleasure  at  its  highest,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to 
live  in  advance  the  pleasure  he  hopes  for  his  friend  to  have. 
In  other  words,  he  has,  at  least  doubled  his  own  enjoyment. 
This  makes  clear  the  hidden  meaning  of  the  old  saying:  "A 


352          THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR  SOURCES 

pleasure  shared  is  a  pleasure  doubled."  The  child  who  has 
been  taught  to  impart  his  pleasures  to  others,  increases  his 
faithing  process  by  that  very  practice. 

Just  as  faith  is  required  of  the  man  who  would  speak 
well;  so  speaking  well,  imparting  to  others  our  best  and 
largest  thoughts  and  feelings,  will  develop  the  faithing 
ability  which  effective  speaking  requires. 


PRACTICAL  SPEAKING  ON  THE  FEELINGS  AND  THEIR 

SOURCES 

To  fix  in  mind  the  laws  governing  the  feelings,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  to  put  your  knowledge  concerning  the  feel- 
ings, into  practical  use,  prepare  to  speak  on  this  subject. 
Outline  this  chapter  and  then  practice  speaking  extempore 
on  the  various  divisions  of  your  outline  and  also  on  the 
whole  chapter.  Make  your  work  as  original  as  possible  by 
using  your  own  illustrations.  Make  an  application  of  each 
point  to  your  own  needs  in  speaking. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 
The  Work  of  Reproducing  the  Emotions 

EMOTION  in  speaking  is,  of  necessity,  largely  a  reproduc- 
tive process.  If  a  speaker  hopes  to  have  strong  emotional 
feeling  when  actually  before  his  audience,  he  must  create 
that  strong  feeling  beforehand,  so  that  when  before  the 
audience  he  needs  only  to  re-experience  the  feeling  he 
formerly  had. 

Some  persons  hold  the  false  belief  that  a  real  emotion 
cannot  be  revived,  hence,  that  true  emotion  in  speaking,  or 
in  any  art,  is  not  possible.  Ribot  after  hundreds  of  experi- 
ments, testifies  (Psych,  of  the  Emotions,  153)  : 

It  is  a  serious  error  to  assert  that  only  the  conditions  of 
the  emotion  can  be  revived,  not  the  emotional  state  itself. 

The  experiments  of  the  present  writer,  performed  on 
himself  and  many  others,  seem  to  prove  that  those  who  can- 
not revive  "the  emotional  state  itself,"  have  lacked  vigorous 
sensations  and  strong  attitudes  of  mind  in  the  original  ex- 
perience. In  other  words,  if  a  speaker  cannot  feel  real 
emotion  when  before  an  audience,  it  is  probably  because 
that  emotion  was  not  as  strong  as  it  might  have  been  when 
he  previously  experienced  it. 

353 


354  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 

For  such  speakers  there  is  but  one  remedy,  namely,  to 
build  stronger  emotions  in  the  preparation  of  their  speeches. 
To  do  so,  one  must  receive  stronger  sensations  from  the 
things  which  should  produce  emotion,  and  must  assume 
toward  those  things  stronger  attitudes  of  mind,  and  must 
develop  those  attitudes  by  a  stronger  process  of  faithing. 
( See  discussion  pp.  344-350. )  Marshall  (Pain,  Pleasure  and 
Aesthetics,  72)  says: 

If  we  wish  to  produce  within  ourselves  a  joyous  frame  of 
mind,  we  must  change  the  scene  to  one  where  direct  stimulation 
is  had  and  must  take  up  vigorous  activities. 

This  is  true  in  producing  not  only  joy  but  all  the  other 
constructive  emotions.  The  intending  speaker  must  re- 
ceive vigorous  sensations  and  must  strongly  react  to 
those  sensations. 

Long  experience  in  helping  students  to  develop  their 
emotions,  has  convinced  us  that  some  emotions  are  much 
easier  for  students  to  develop  than  others.  We  have  ar- 
ranged the  experiments  with  this  thought  in  mind.  We  have 
outlined  the  first  experiments  in  the  emotion  of  delight, 
which  seems  to  be  the  easiest  of  all  to  the  average  student. 
The  next  easiest  emotion  is  attempted  next  and  so  on  to 
the  most  difficult. 


I.    Experiments  in  the  Emotion  of  Delight 

I.  For  the  first  experiment,  prepare  a  short  descriptive 
narration  of  some  event  in  which  there  was  great  delight. 
Do  not  write  and  commit  to  memory  this  narrative,  but 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  THE  EMOTION  OF  DELIGHT        355 

make  a  brief  outline  of  the  principal  happenings,  and, 
from  this  outline,  practice  telling  aloud  your  story.  Let 
what  you  tell  be  either  something  that  actually  happened 
in  your  own  life,  or  something  that  happened  in  the  life  of 
someone  else,  or  something  original  which  you  build  from 
your  own  creative  imagination.  Let  it  be  an  event  in  which 
things  happen  quickly  and  in  which  the  persons  you  describe 
are  so  "carried  away"  with  delight,  that  you  can't  help 
being  filled  with  their  feeling  as  you  tell  about  it.  An  ideal 
theme  for  this  experiment,  is  the  delight  of  children,  for 
children  give  themselves  much  more  readily  and  freely  to 
their  delights  than  do  older  persons. 

Do  not  merely  tell  about  the  delight,  but  sense  keenly 
everything  which  you  think  the  person  described  senses, 
form  all  the  conceptions  which  you  imagine  him  to  be 
forming,  and  assume  the  same  attitudes  which  you 
imagine  him  to  be  assuming. 

Your  success  in  this  experiment  will  be  most  complete, 
if  you  become  so  interested  in  the  delights  of  the  persons 
you  describe,  that  you  introduce  them  as  characters  in 
your  narrative.  That  is,  cease,  here  and  there,  to  describe 
them  and  actually  impersonate  them,  using  their  words  and 
telling  others  of  your  delight,  while  you  imagine  yourself 
to  be  the  person  whose  feelings  you  are  describing. 

When  you  have  practiced  telling  your  story  aloud  sev- 
eral times,  and  have  fixed  in  mind  the  order  of  events,  then 
practice  telling  it  in  pantomime.  Give  yourself  up  to  every 
kind  of  action  (action  of  symbolism,  action  of  purpose,  and 
action  of  identification)  that  will  increase  your  own  feel- 
ing of  delight.  When  you  have  told  your  story  in  panto- 
mime several  times,  again  tell  it  aloud,  but  enter  as  fully 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 

into  the  action  as  if  you  had  to  show  your  delight  by  action 
alone. 

Every  time  you  perform  this  experiment,  try  to  make 
your  sensations  quicker  and  keener,  your  conceptions 
clearer,  your  attitudes  stronger,  and  your  action  freerer.  // 
you  do  these  things,  your  emotion  of  delight  will  grow 
stronger  every  time  you  tell  the  story.  If  you  do  not  do 
them,  you  will  soon  be  complaining  that  although  you  felt 
the  emotion  when  you  first  began  working  on  the  experi- 
ment, you  cannot  feel  it  when  you  try  it  before  the  class. 
This  is  true  not  only  of  this  experiment,  but  also  of  all  the 
experiments  in  emotion.  We  must  keep  the  faithing 
process,  strong. 

Let  this  story,  when  finished,  occupy  about  three  minutes 
in  telling  before  the  class. 

2.  As  a  second  experiment,  build  the  emotions  of  de- 
light in  the  following  short  selection,  "Blossom  Time,"  by 
Ina  Donno  Coolbreth. 

"It's  O,  my  heart !  my  heart !  to  be  out  in  the  sun  and  sing ; 
to  sing  and  shout,  in  the  fields  about,  in  the  balm  and  the 
blossoming.  Sing  loud,  O  bird  in  the  tree;  O  bird,  sing  loud 
in  the  sky;  and,  honey-bees,  blacken  the  clover  seas.  There's 
none  of  you  glad  as  I.  The  leaves  laugh,  low,  in  the  wind, 
laugh,  low,  in  the  wind  at  play;  and  the  odorous  call  of  the 
flowers,  all,  entices  my  soul  away;  for  O  but  the  world  is 
fair,  and  O  but  the  world  is  sweet.  I  will,  out  of  the  gold 
of  the  blossoming,  mold,  and  sit  at  the  Master's  feet;  and  the 
love  my  heart  would  speak,  I  will  fold  in  the  lily's  rim,  that 
the  lips  of  the  blossom,  more  pure  and  meek,  may  offer  it  up 
to  Him.  Then  sing,  in  the  hedge-row  green,  O  thrush.  O 
skylark,  sing  in  the  blue.  Sing  loud,  sing  clear,  that  the  King 
may  hear;  and  my  soul  will  sing  with  you." 

First  read  the  selection  through,  in  silence,  to  be  sure 
that  you  get  clearly  in  mind  the  author's  central  concep- 


THE  EMOTION  OF  HUMOR  357 

tion  from  which  delight  is  found  in  everything  spoken  of 
in  the  selection.  Then  read  it  again,  sensing  everything 
which  it  seems  to  you  the  author  must  have  sensed,  building 
a  clear  conception  of  every  single  phrase,  before  you  read  it 
aloud,  taking  an  attitude  of  delight  toward  everything 
spoken  of,  and  giving  your  whole  being  up  to  this  delight. 
When  you  have  read  the  selection  aloud  in  this  manner, 
until  you  know  it  "by  heart,"  perform  the  experiment  in 
pantomime,  repeating  the  words  mentally  but  not  aloud, 
and  building  such  strong  emotion  of  delight,  for  every 
phrase,  that  anyone  knowing  the  selection  and  seeing  your 
action  and  expression,  could  tell  the  very  phrase  you  are 
thinking.  Now  repeat  the  experiment,  saying  the  words 
aloud  and  retaining  all  the  vigor  of  action  you  had  when 
you  told  the  story  in  pantomime. 

If  it  seems  best  to  continue  the  interpretative  work  to 
further  develop  the  emotion  of  delight,  the  following  selec- 
tions will  be  found  good:  "Daffodils,"  by  Wordsworth,  or 
"Apple  Blossoms,"  by  William  Wesley  Martin. 


THE  EMOTION  OF  HUMOR 

When  we  attempt  to  develop  the  emotion  of  Humor,  we 
should  keep  in  mind  the  thought  expressed  by  "Bob"  Bur- 
dette,  one  of  the  greatest  of  humorists.  He  said:  "The 
basis  of  humor  is  the  misfortune  of  somebody  else — that 
is,  we  laugh  at  the  misfortunes  of  others."  This  seems  to 
me  a  great  truth  expressed  in  rather  an  unfair  way.  To 
be  sure,  we  do  laugh  when  we  see  someone  fall  on  the  ice, 
for  example.  We  laugh  though  the  one  who  has  fallen  may 


358  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 

be  badly  hurt ;  but  do  we  laugh  because  he  is  hurt  ?  Do  we 
laugh  because  we  are  thinking  of  his  being  hurt?  Or  do  we 
laugh  because  we  do  not  stop  to  think  of  that?  Careful 
investigation  proves  to  us  that  the  latter  is  true.  I  had  this 
truth  deeply  impressed  on  my  mind  years  ago.  I  saw  my 
father  fall  in  a  comical  way.  I  laughed  immoderately,  when 
suddenly  I  saw  by  his  pale  face  that  he  was  badly  hurt. 
Instantly  the  laughter  died  within  me.  /  had  not  laughed 
at  his  misfortune.  I  had  laughed  "in  spite"  of  it,  because 
I  did  not  think  of  it.  The  instant  /  did  think  of  it,  it  was 
impossible  for  me  to  laugh.  What  caused  me  to  laugh?  I 
laughed  because  I  saw  my  father  in  an  inverted  position 
which  to  me  was  comical.  Someone  says:  "Well,  then, 
you  were  laughing  at  his  misfortune  in  falling."  To  this 
I  reply  that  I  was  then  a  youth,  and  to  a  youth  a  mere 
fall  is  no  misfortune.  The  youthful  mind  holds  so  many 
conceptions  of  falls  it  has  witnessed  and  experienced  when 
no  harm  was  done,  that  when  a  youth  sees  anyone  fall,  he 
thinks  only  of  the  misfit,  not  of  the  misfortune.  I  laughed 
at  the  misfit  position  in  which  I  saw  my  father.  This,  it 
seems  to  me,  is  what  Mr.  Burdette  meant  to  say:  "The  basis 
of  humor  is  the  misfit  of  somebody  else — that  is,  we  laugh 
at  the  misfits  of  others."  Whenever  anyone  makes  a  slip, 
either  in  mind  or  body,  so  that  his  action  of  mind  or  body, 
is  not  such  as  we  should  regularly  expect  in  such  circum- 
stances, we  laugh  at  him. 

The  reason  we  feel  so  good  over  such  a  thing,  seems  to 
be  that  we  are  rejoiced  not  to  find  ourselves  in  the  same 
state  as  the  one  at  whom  we  laugh. 

We  see  still  more  clearly  that  it  is  the  unusual  rather 
than  the  unfortunate  that  is  humorous  to  us,  when  we  con- 


THE   EMOTION   OF  HUMOR  359 

sider  the  humor  in  witty  things  that  are  said.  Imagine 
yourself  in  a  small  company  of  persons  one  of  whom  is  a 
wit.  The  conversation  is  dragging,  when  suddenly  this  wit 
makes  a  brief  remark  and  throws  the  whole  company  into 
an  uproar  of  laughter.  We  know  that  we  are  not  laughing 
at  this  man  because  of  any  misfortune,  or  because  he  did 
something  he  did  not  intend  to  do.  We  know  that  his 
mind,  at  this  moment,  is  more  alert  and  more  capable  than 
any  other  mind  present.  What  causes  us  to  laugh  at  what 
he  says?  Is  it  not  clear  that  we  laugh  because  what  he 
says  is  so  unusual,  so  unexpected?  The  basis  of  our 
humor  here  is  a  "misfit"  only  in  the  sense  that  it  is  an  un- 
expected or  unusual  fit.  The  thing  said  fits  in  so  oddly,  so 
out  of  the  ordinary,  with  other  things  said,  that  it  gives  us 
a  sudden  relief.  We  feel  good  over  the  relief,  and  we 
laugh. 

The  emotion  of  humor  is  different  from  most  of  the 
other  constructive  emotions. 

Humor  is  not  so  much  a  struggle  to  get  something 
hoped  for  as  it  is  a  quick  yielding,  or  relaxing,  of  the  body 
to  receive  and  appreciate  the  unusual.  It  is  none  the  less 
constructive,  but  it  does  its  constructive  work,  its  building, 
by  relaxing  and  refreshing  the  body  while  the  other  con- 
structive emotions  build  through  a  struggle  to  acquire  or 
to  overcome. 

It  is  the  faithing  process  that  builds  humor;  but  "the 
substance"  which  one  must  get  in  humor,  is  only  a  keen 
conception  of  the  difference  between  the  humorous  thing 
and  the  thing  with  which  he  (consciously  or  uncon- 
sciously) compares  it. 


360  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 


Experiments  in  the  Emotion  of  Humor 

i.  As  the  first  experiment,  prepare  a  short  descriptive 
narrative  of  some  incident  so  humorous  that  you  cannot 
think  about  it  without  being  consumed  with  a  desire  to 
laugh.  Let  the  incident  be  something  that  happened  in 
your  own  life,  or  something  that  you  knew  to  happen  to 
someone  else,  or  something  that  you  create  in  imagina- 
tion. Whatever  you  relate,  keep  in  mind  the  fact  just 
declared,  that  real  humor  is  found  in  misfits,  in  unusual 
or  unexpected  fits.  Let  the  thing  you  tell  have  one  or 
more  happenings  in  it,  that  are  so  unexpected  that  every 
time  you  conceive  them  in  relation  to  the  other  things 
in  your  story,  you  yourself  are  filled  with  the  humor  of 
the  situation.  Do  not  forget  that  your  emotion  will  grow 
only  in  proportion  as  you  keep  your  sensations  fresh  and 
quick,  your  conceptions  clear,  your  mental  attitudes  strong, 
and  your  bodily  action  spontaneous  and  free. 

To  keep  your  bodily  action  what  it  should  be,  make  the 
experiment  in  pantomime  as  well  as  in  words.  When  you 
perform  the  experiment  in  pantomime,  keep  your  mind  so 
firmly  fixed  on  the  things  about  which  you  are  mentally 
speaking,  that  your  body  enters  into  every  kind  of  action 
(action  of  symbolism,  action  of  purpose,  and  action  of 
identification)  that  can  help  to  make  clear  to  anyone  seeing 
your  action,  the  humorous  things  you  are  seeing  in  the 
imaginary  scene  you  are  describing. 

When  you  repeat  the  experiment  in  words,  after  having 
done  it  in  pantomime,  be  sure  to  make  your  body  tell  the 
story  as  clearly  as  it  did  in  pantomime.  Do  not  let  your- 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  THE  EMOTION  OF  HUMOR      361 

self  feel  that  your  words  can  take  the  place  of  your  action. 
If  you  do,  your  emotion  of  humor  will  soon  die.  Do  not 
allow  yourself  to  commit  to  memory  definite  words  and 
then  repeat  them  in  this  experiment;  but  make  an  outline 
of  the  things  you  wish  to  tell  about,  and  then  tell  of  them 
because  you  see  and  hear  (and  otherwise  sense)  the  things 
that  are  happening  in  the  imaginary  scene  before  you. 

Remember  that  it  is  not  sufficient  that  your  story  be 
humorous  to  others,  when  told.  It  must  be  humorous 
to  you,  the  narrator,  if  it  is  to  develop  your  emotion  of 
humor. 

Be  prepared  to  tell  your  story  in  about  three  minutes, 
either  in  pantomime  or  in  words  and  action. 

2.  For  the  second  experiment,  in  building  the  emo- 
tions of  humor;  use  some  short  selections  from  litera- 
ture. When  you  begin  your  work  on  a  selection,  first, 
with  your  imaginative  senses  all  keenly  alert  to  catch 
everything  unusual  in  the  words,  the  feelings,  the  actions 
of  the  people  described,  read  the  selection  in  silence.  As 
you  do  so,  imagine  that  you  are  at  the  very  place  where 
the  humorous  event  is  happening,  and  that  you  have  by 
your  side  a  friend,  who,  for  some  reason,  cannot  see  any- 
thing that  is  happening  except  as  you  tell  it  so  well  that 
he  can  see  it  all  in  imagination.  Every  time  you  come  to 
one  of  the  unexpected  or  unusual  things  which  make  the 
humor,  be  as  much  surprised  as  if  you  had  not  known 
what  was  coming. 

Imagine,  each  time,  how  you  would  feel  if  you  should 
see  this  thing  happen  without  having  known  what  was 
coming. 

This  is  the  secret  of  building  humor  for  speech  work. 


362  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 

This  is  the  faithing  process  which  is  absolutely  necessary, 
not  only  to  make  the  emotion  of  humor  grow  as  we  tell 
a  story  over  and  over  again,  it  is  necessary  even  to  keep  the 
emotion  alive. 

When  you  have  performed  the  experiment  several  times 
while  reading  the  selection  silently,  perform  it  several  times 
while  reading  it  aloud.  Each  time  you  do  so,  keep  your- 
self alert  to  discover  what  sensations,  conceptions,  attitudes, 
and  actions  seem  to  increase  your  humor.  The  next  time 
you  read  it,  try  to  develop  and  make  stronger  these  things 
which  have  given  you  the  liveliest  help.  When  you  have 
told  the  story  so  often  that  you  can  tell  it  without  the  book 
before  you,  lay  the  book  aside  and  repeat  the  experiment, 
throwing  yourself  into  the  telling  with  more  vigorous  action 
of  mind  and  body.  Then  perform  the  experiment  in  panto- 
mime, to  cause  your  body  to  take  still  livelier  interest  in  the 
humor.  When  you  have  done  this,  tell  it  once  more  in 
words,  making  sure  that  you  keep  the  same  full  and  free 
action  of  the  body  that  you  had  when  you  told  the  story 
without  words.  Be  prepared  to  present  the  selection 
studied,  before  the  class,  either  in  pantomime  or  in  action 
and  words. 

For  the  first  experiment  in  building  the  emotion  of  humor 
in  selections,  use  the  following  selection:  A  Fair  Field 
and  No  Favors. 


The  train  is  gone.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mann  look  at  each  other 
in  speechless  disappointment,  then  Mr.  Mann  declares  that  they 
missed  the  train  because  it  took  Mrs.  Mann  so  long  to  dress. 
Mrs.  Mann  declares  that  she  spent  all  her  time  waiting  on 
him.  They  postpone  the  trip  until  next  week,  and  agree  that 
next  time,  each  one  shall  get  ready  and  go,  and  the  one  who 
fails  to  get  ready  shall  be  left. 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  THE  EMOTION  OF  HUMOR      363 

The  day  for  the  proposed  trip  arrives.  The  train  will  leave 
at  10:30  and  Mr.  Mann,  after  attending  to  business,  goes  home 
at  9:45.  He  calls  to  his  wife:  "Now,  then,  only  three-quarters 
of  an  hour.  Fly  around;  a  fair  field  and  no  favors."  And 
away  they  fly. 

Mr.  Mann  chuckles  to  himself,  to  think  how  cheap  Mrs. 
Mann  will  feel  when  he  starts  off  alone.  To  save  time,  he 
pulls  off  his  coat  as  he  runs  through  the  dining-room,  and 
hangs  it  on  a  corner  of  the  silver-closet;  he  jerks  off  his  vest, 
as  he  rushes  through  the  hall,  and  tosses  it  on  the  hat-rack; 
he  pulls  off  his  boots  and  leaves  them  on  the  stairs.  As  he 
reaches  his  room,  he  calls:  "Eleanor,  where  are  my  shirts?" 
Mrs.  Mann  calmly  replies:  "In  your  bureau  drawer."  He  pulls 
out  the  bureau  drawer  and  begins  to  paw  at  the  things  like 
a  Scotch  terrier  after  a  rat.  When  he  has  scattered  everything 
from  the  drawer  on  the  floor,  his  wife  gently  reminds  him 
that  those  are  all  her  things,  and  advises  him  to  look  in  his 
own  drawer. 

A  moment  later,  he  plunges  into  his  shirt  like  a  bull  at  a 
red  flag,  and  then  shouts :  "No  buttons !"  Mrs.  Mann  stares 
at  the  fidgeting,  impatient  man,  while  she  buttons  her  dress 
and  puts  eleven  pins  where  they  will  do  the  most  good,  and 
then  says  sweetly:  "Because  you  have  got  the  shirt  on  wrong 
side  out."  When  he  slides  out  of  the  shirt,  he  begins  to  sweat. 
He  drops  the  shirt  three  times  before  he  gets  it  on,  and  when 
it  is  over  his  head,  he  hears  the  clock  strike  ten.  He  cries: 
"Where  are  my  shirt  studs?"  Mrs.  Mann  quietly  gets  her  hat 
and  gloves,  while  he  empties  all  the  boxes  he  can  find  in  and 
around  the  bureau,  and  then  says:  "In  the  shirt  you  just  pulled 
off."  Now  he  charges  up  and  down  the  room,  hunting  for 
his  cuff-buttons,  and  finally  calls  out:  "Eleanor,  I  believe  you 
must  know  where  those  cuff-buttons  are."  Calmly  settling  her 
hat,  she  replies :  "Didn't  you  leave  them  on  the  window-sill 
in  the  sitting  room  last  night?" 

Mr.  Mann  remembers  and  goes  down  stairs  on  the  run.  He 
steps  on  one  of  the  boots  he  left  on  the  stairs,  and  is  imme- 
diately landed  in  the  hall  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  Mrs.  Mann 
leans  over  the  banister  and  asks  sweetly :  "Are  you  nearly  ready, 
Algernon  ?" 

Now  Mr.  Mann  darts  into  this  room  and  flies  through  that 
one,  with  inconceivable  rapidity,  while  he  shouts :  "Where  in 
the  name  of  Sfoodness  did  you  put  my  vest?  Can't  you  get  it 
for  me?"  With  her  hand  on  the  door-knob,  she  calls:  "You 
threw  it  on  the  hat-rack.  A  fair  field  and  no  favors,  you 
know.  Good-bye,  dear." 


364  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 

Just  as  the  train  is  pulling  out  of  sight  down  in  the  yards, 
a  flushed,  enterprising  man,  with  his  hat  on  sideways,  his 
vest  unbuttoned  and  his  necktie  flying,  his  gripsack  flapping 
open  and  shut,  and  a  door-key  in  his  hand,  dashes  wildly  across 
the  platform  and  halts  in  the  middle  of  the  track,  glaring 
in  dejected,  impotent,  wrathful  mortification  at  a  pretty  woman 
who  is  throwing  kisses  at  him  from  the  rear  platform  of  the 
last  car  of  the  departing  train. 

If  additional  selections  are  desired  for  the  development 
of  the  emotion  of  humor,  the  following  will  be  found  among 
the  best:  The  Imaginary  Invalid,  by  Jerome  K.  Jerome 
(found  in  Three  Men  in  a  Boat,  and  also  in  Standard  Selec- 
tions, by  Fulton  &  Trueblood) ;  New  England  Weather, 
The  Babies,  and  Woman,  God  Bless  Her!  all  three  by 
Samuel  L.  Clemens,  and  all  found  in  his  works  (Mark 
Twain's  Works'),  and  in  Modern  Eloquence,  Vol.  I;  and 
such  comedies  as  The  Rivals,  by  Sheridan,  and  The  Im- 
portance of  Being  Earnest,  by  Oscar  Wilde. 


THE  EMOTION  OF  COURAGE 

The  average  student  seems  to  find  the  emotion  of  cour- 
age a  little  more  difficult  to  develop  than  either  of  the  two 
emotions  in  which  we  have  now  experimented.  A  few 
students,  however,  find  courage  a  much  easier  emotion  to 
realize  than  either  delight  or  humor.  You  have  probably  dis- 
covered by  this  time,  that  the  development  of  any  emotion 
is  easy  or  difficult  for  each  of  us  according  to  our  previous 
habits.  In  no  emotion  is  this  more  strikingly  true  than  in 
the  emotion  of  courage.  If  we  have  frequently  gone 
through  experiences  which  have  aroused  in  us  strong  feel- 


THE  EMOTION  OF  COURAGE  365 

ing  of  courage,  then  it  will  be  easier  for  us  to  create  this 
emotion  in  our  speech  work.  If  we  have  not  been  strongly 
courageous,  we  shall  find  it  necessary  to  put  forth  greater 
effort. 

The  reason  this  is  more  particularly  true  in  courage  than 
in  either  of  the  emotions  we  have  attempted,  is,  that  courage 
is  a  more  thoroughly  constructive  feeling  than  either  of  the 
others.  Both  delight  and  humor  are  constructive,  but  each 
is  constructive  in  a  yielding  way,  while  courage  is  con- 
structive in  a  conquering  way.  Each  of  the  three  is  built 
through  the  faithing  process;  that  is,  in  each  of  these  feel- 
ings, the  mind  is  contemplating  something  it  desires  and  is 
getting  the  substance  of  that  thing  by  imagining  how  it 
would  feel  to  have  that  thing.  When  we  are  delighted  at 
something,  it  is  so  easy  to  "get  the  substance  of  the  thing 
hoped  for."  Examine  any  case  where  you  have  been  de- 
lighted, and  you  will  see  that  your  delight  begins  when 
word  comes  to  you  that  the  thing  you  have  been  hoping  for 
is  now  given  you.  A  similar  thing  happens  whenever  any- 
thing is  humorous  to  us.  The  substance  of  humor  is  created 
for  us.  To  have  the  emotion  of  humor,  all  we  have  to  do, 
is  to  conceive  the  situation,  yield  to  it  and  laugh.  But  how 
different  is  the  process  of  courage !  The  mind  again  turns 
to  something  hoped  for,  but  it  does  this  in  the  presence  of 
great  opposition.  The  mind,  just  as  it  did  in  the  other 
emotions,  again  begins  to  imagine  what  it  would  be  to  have 
the  thing  hoped  for;  but  it  does  this  in  full  consciousness 
of  the  great  struggle  that  must  be  made  to  get  that  thing. 
The  soldier,  for  example,  is  courageous  only  when  he  real- 
izes the  awful  danger  he  must  face,  and  the  struggle  he 
must  make,  then,  faithing  the  victory,  faces  the  danger 


366  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 

and  uses  all  his  powers  to  win  the  victory.     His  courage 
constructs  the  victory. 

This  should  make  it  clear,  that  if  you  have  not  learned 
to  win  against  great  opposition,  you  must  now  do  so,  if  you 
hope  to  experience  the  emotion  of  courage.  It  should  also 
impress  you  with  the  fact  that  if  you  desire  to  be  a  speaker 
of  power,  you  must  develop  your  emotion  of  courage  to  a 
high  degree.  The  so-called  "power"  of  the  speaker  is 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  result  of  the  speaker's 
effort  to  win  against  great  opposition.  The  emotion  of 
courage  is  demanded  of  the  speaker  almost  constantly,  for 
he  must  overcome  the  opposition  of  opposing  ideas  in  the 
minds  of  his  audience,  as  well  as  their  indifference  toward 
his  message,  toward  their  own  good,  etc.  Only  in  propor- 
tion as  a  speaker  clearly  conceives  the  opposition  his 
message  is  likely  to  encounter,  and  in  proportion  as  he  con- 
ceives what  is  necessary  for  him  to  do  to  overcome  that 
opposition,  and  sets  faithfully  to  work  to  accomplish  that 
thing,  can  he  hope  to  become  a  powerful  speaker. 


Experiments  in  the  Emotion  of  Courage 

I.  As  the  first  experiment  to  develop  the  emotion  of 
courage,  prepare  an  original  narrative  description  of  some 
event  in  which  great  courage  is  shown.  Let  it  be  a  scene 
where  the  courage  is  not  all  manifested  in  one  brief  moment 
and  then  ceases ;  but  let  the  effort  of  the  persons  described, 
be  repeated  again  and  again  before  victory  is  attained.  Let 
the  dangers  and  difficulties,  to  be  overcome,  grow  greater 
and  greater,  until  the  victory  is  finally  won. 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  THE  EMOTION  OF  COURAGE   367 

Describe  something  you  yourself  have  actually  witnessed, 
or  something  a  friend  or  acquaintance  has  witnessed,  or 
describe  something  which  you  imagine  to  take  place.  Let 
it  be  such  a  scene  as  that  of  a  burning  building  in  which 
human  lives  are  about  to  be  lost,  or  the  rescue  of  persons 
from  a  ship-wreck,  or  a  brave  charge  in  battle,  or  the  fight- 
ing of  forest-fire  or  prairie-fire. 

Whatever  courageous  deed  you  describe,  imagine  it  is 
actually  happening  a  very  short  distance  before  you  as 
you  describe  it.  Keep  all  your  verbs  in  the  present  tense. 
Imagine  that  the  persons  to  be  rescued  are  your  best  friends, 
about  to  perish.  Try  to  feel  the  deepest  possible  gratitude 
to  the  brave  persons  who  are  attempting  to  rescue  those  in 
danger.  Conceive  clearly  the  great  danger  through  which 
the  rescuers  are  passing.  Conceive  clearly  the  heroic 
struggles  they  must  make  to  save  your  friends.  Feel  that 
you  would  be  making  the  effort  yourself  if  you  could,  and, 
since  you  cannot  do  this,  feel  that  you  must  help  the  res- 
cuers in  every  way  possible,  by  conceiving  every  danger 
they  must  avoid  and  every  difficulty  they  must  overcome, 
and  also  by  fairly  giving  them  the  strength  and  the  cour- 
age to  carry  them  on  to  victory. 

Realize  that,  in  the  scene  you  are  now  describing,  the 
conception  from  which  your  emotion  must  start,  is  the  con- 
ception of  your  friends  in  danger  of  death.  Realize,  too, 
that: 

Your  emotion  of  courage  will  not  start  until  you  con- 
ceive what  you  wish  to  have  done,  and  feel  as  if  you 
were  doing  that  thing. 

In  no  other  experiment,  perhaps,  will  pantomime  do  as 
much  for  you  as  in  this  one.  Perform  the  experiment  in 


368  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 

pantomime  several  times  and  give  your  whole  body  up  to 
action  of  identification  as  you  try  to  help  the  rescuers,  and 
to  action  of  purpose  and  symbolism  as  you  try  to  show  to  a 
friend  beside  you  what  the  rescuers  are  doing.  Always 
perform  the  experiment,  describing  the  scene  in  words  as 
well  as  in  action,  immediately  after  you  have  performed 
it  in  pantomime.  Be  prepared  to  perform  the  experiment 
both  ways  before  the  class,  and  try  to  make  the  class  see 
and  feel  your  emotion  more  in  pantomime  than  when  you 
use  words.  Let  the  story  occupy  about  three  minutes. 

2.  For  the  second  experiment,  build  the  emotions  of 
courage  required  in  the  following  selection,  Columbus,  by 
Joaquin  Miller: 

Behind  him  lay  the  gray  Azores,  behind  the  gates  of  Her- 
cules; before  him  not  the  ghost  of  shores;  before  him  only 
shoreless  seas.  The  good  mate  said:  "Now  must  we  pray,  for 
lo !  the  very  stars  are  gone.  Brave  AdmVl,  speak ;  what  shall 
I  say?"  "Why,  say:  'Sail  on!  sail  on!  and  on!'" 

"My  men  grow  muntinous  day  by  day ;  my  men  grow  ghastly 
wan  and  weak."  The  stout  mate  thought  of  home;  a  spray  of 
salt  wave  washed  his  swarthy  cheek.  "What  shall  I  say,  brave 
Adm'r'l,  say,  if  we  sight  naught  but  seas  at  dawn?"  "Why 
you  shall  say  at  break  of  day :  'Sail  on !  sail  on !  sail  on ! 
and  on !' " 

They  sailed  and  sailed,  as  winds  might  blow,  until  at  last 
the  blanched  mate  said :  "Why,  now  not  even  God  would  know 
should  I  and  all  my  men  fall  dead.  These  very  winds  forget 
their  way ;  for  God  from  these  dread  seas  is  gone.  Now  speak, 

brave  Adm'r'l;  speak  and  say "  He  said:  "  'Sail  on  !  sail  on  ! 

and  on!'" 

They  sailed:  they  sailed.  Then  spake  the  mate:  "This  mad 
sea  shows  his  teeth  tonight,  he  curls  his  lip,  he  lies  in  wait,  with 
lifted  teeth,  as  if  to  bite!  Brave  Adm'r'l,  say  but  one  good 
word :  what  shall  we  do  when  hope  is  gone  ?"  The  words  leapt 
like  a  leaping  sword :  "  'Sail  on  !  sail  on !  sail  on  !  and  on  !'  " 

Then  pale  and  worn,  he  kept  his  deck,  and  peered  through 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  THE  EMOTION  OF  COURAGE   369 


darkness.  Ah,  that  night  of  all  dark  nights!  And  then  a 
speck— a  light?  a  light?  a  light!  a  light!  It  grew;  a  starlit 
flag  unfurled!  It  grew  to  be  Time's  burst  of  dawn.  He 
gained  a  world;  he  gave  that  world  its  grandest  lesson:  "On! 
sail  on!" 


If  additional  selections  are  desired,  through  which  to 
develop  the  emotion  of  courage,  we  suggest: 

The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade,  by  Tennyson ;  or  How  Did 
You  Die,  by  Edmund  Vance  Cook;  or  To  the  Man  Who  Fails, 
by  Alfred  J.  Waterhouse  (the  last  named  in  Heart  Throbs, 
published  by  Grosser  &  Dunlap,  Nj.  Y.). 

If  the  student  will  study  carefully  the  principal  attitudes 
he  must  assume  in  each  of  these  four  selections  (the  one 
quoted  and  the  three  suggested)  he  will  learn  that  the 
attitude  in  each  one  is  different  from  the  attitudes  required 
by  the  others.  If  you  use  "Columbus,"  quoted  above,  your 
principal  emotion  of  courage  will  develop  from  your  imper- 
sonation of  Columbus.  If  you  use  "The  Charge  of  the 
Light  Brigade,"  you  will  build  your  emotion  of  courage 
while  you  watch,  in  imagination,  a  scene  of  great  courage 
and  describe  that  scene  to  an  imaginary  friend  beside  you. 
In  one  respect,  the  attitude  in  "How  Did  You  Die?"  and 
"To  the  Man  Who  Fails,"  is  the  same,  namely,  that  in  both 
selections  you  are  speaking  directly  to  someone  to  create 
courage  within  him.  There  is  this  essential  difference  be- 
tween these  two  messages,  however,  that  one  of  them  is 
designed  to  instil  courage  in  the  person  spoken  to  by  means 
of  the  attitude  of  pluck,  while  the  other  would  impart 
courage  through  the  attitude  of  sympathy.  These  are  the 
four  principal  kinds  of  courage  which  will  be  required  of  you 
as  a  speaker.  Therefore,  prepare  yourself,  through  experi- 
ment, to  create  courage  from  all  these  attitudes.  For  your 


37°  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 

first  efforts,  however,  it  may  be  best  for  you  to  determine 
which  attitude  gives  you  the  best  results,  and  to  develop 
your  emotion  of  courage  from  that  attitude  until  you  have 
mastered  this  emotion. 


THE  EMOTION  OF  PATHOS 

Before  we  attempt  to  develop  this  emotion,  let  us  first 
get  a  clear  conception  of  what  pathos  is.  Understand  defi- 
nitely that  we  are  not  trying  to  increase  our  ability  to  ex- 
perience either  the  felling  of  sadness  or  grief.  We  have 
found  that  both  these  feelings  arise  from  a  conception  of 
something  not  desired  and  are,  therefore,  destructive  emo- 
tions. We  found  also  that  any  destructive  emotion  is  an 
undesirable  thing  in  speech-work  until  it  is  transformed  into 
a  constructive  emotion.  We  learned  that  a  destructive 
emotion  can  be  transformed  into  a  constructive  emotion 
only  when  the  mind  is  turned  from  the  thing  not  desired, 
to  something  desired  or  hoped  for. 

Let  us  see  what  these  things  mean  to  us  when  we  attempt 
to  develop  pathos.  You  have  usually  thought  of  pathos 
and  grief  as  almost  the  same  thing,  haven't  you?  You 
know  that  the  things  you  have  heard  called  "pathetic," 
have  been  situations  in  which  there  was  deep  sorrow,  do 
you  not?  Then,  if  pathos  is  always  so  closely  associated 
with  grief  or  sorrow  that  we  have  been  accustomed  to  con- 
sider them  almost  the  same  thing,  how  is  it  that  grief  and 
sorrow  are  considered  destructive  emotions,  while  pathos 
is  considered  a  constructive,  desirable  emotion?  Is  it  not 
clear  that  pathos  is  one  or  the  other  of  these  two  unde- 


THE  EMOTION  OF  PATHOS  371 

sirable  emotions  transformed  into  a  constructive,  desirable 
emotion  ? 

Pathos,  as  we  use  the  term,  is  the  thing  into  which 
sorrow  is  transformed  when  the  mind,  through  its  sor- 
row, sees  something  hoped  for,  and,  faithing  that  thing, 
bravely  bears  what  it  cannot  escape. 

To  illustrate  this  transformation,  suppose  that  a  member 
of  your  family  has  died.  To  think  of  your  loss,  fills  you 
with  the  destructive  emotion,  sorrow.  As  long  as  you  let 
your  mind  dwell  on  that  loss,  your  feeling  of  sorrow  re- 
mains and  grows.  But,  one  day,  you  turn  your  mind  to 
something  you  hope  for.  Perhaps  you  see  your  mother  so 
deeply  grieved  that  you  long  to  see  her  happy  again.  You 
begin  to  faith  her  happiness,  that  is,  you  begin  to  realize 
what  must  be  done  to  make  her  happy.  You  begin  to  do 
those  things  which  you  believe  will  bring  her  happiness. 
Instantly  your  sorrow  begins  to  be  transformed  into  some 
other  emotion.  If  your  mind  is  now  so  filled  with  thoughts 
of  the  cheer  you  hope  to  bring  to  your  mother,  that  you 
do  not  think  of  your  own  loss,  your  sorrow  ceases  alto- 
gether, and  you  have,  in  its  stead,  one  of  the  more  buoyant 
emotions — happiness,  perhaps.  But  if  you  remain  con- 
scious of  the  fact  that  you  can  never  have  your  departed 
relative  again,  if  you  still  feel  this  great  loss,  and  if  you 
bear  your  loss  more  bravely  because  you  are  struggling  so 
hard  to  help  your  mother  to  be  happy  again,  then  your 
sorrow  becomes  pathos.  It  should  now  be  clear  that  pathos 
is  courage  in  sorrow. 

This  is  the  only  kind  of  sorrow  that  has  any  place  in 
speech-work.  The  speaker  or  reader  should  bring  before 
the  audience  a  sorrowful  scene  only  to  help  those  who 


372  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 

hear  him,  to  bear  their  sorrows.  It  is  plain  that  the  best 
way  for  a  speaker  to  help  others  to  bear  their  sorrows,  is 
by  setting  the  example  of  bearing  sorrow  bravely.  There- 
fore, whenever  a  speaker  "gives  way"  to  sadness  or  sorrow 
or  grief,  he  is  perverting  his  art,  slighting  his  duty,  and 
losing  his  opportunity  to  influence  and  to  help  his  audience. 
The  student  of  speech  should  be  cautioned,  however,  against 
the  evil  of  going  to  the  other  extreme  by  avoiding  all  pathos 
in  his  work,  and  also  against  the  habit  of  "choking"  all  his 
tender  and  sympathetic  emotions  by  assuming  the  attitude 
of  pluck  or  determination  in  their  stead.  A  speaker  must 
feel  sorrow,  else  a  large  part  of  his  influence  with  his  audi- 
ence is  lost.  The  mistake  comes  when  the  speaker  yields 
to  his  sorrow  and  becomes  weak  instead  of  strong.  Pathos 
has  an  important  part  in  speech-work,  and  must  not  be 
neglected.  How  can  you  hope  to  help  others  out  of  their 
sorrows  unless  you  first  realize  their  sorrows? 


Experiments  in  the  Emotion  of  Pathos 

I.  As  the  first  experiment  in  the  development  of 
pathos  in  your  speech-work,  tell  briefly  a  pathetic  story. 
Select,  for  this  experiment,  some  pathetic  experience  from 
your  own  life,  or  something  that  you  know  to  have  hap- 
pened, or  something  which  you  imagine  to  happen. 
Since  pathos,  as  we  have  just  defined  it,  is  courage  in  sor- 
row, you  will  realize  that  the  first  thing  for  you  to  do  in 
this  experiment,  is  to  experience  a  deep  feeling  of  sorrow ; 
the  second  thing  is  to: 

Be  brave  in  the  sorrow  which  you  feel.     The  more 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  THE  EMOTION  OF  PATHOS      373 

nearly  you  are  overcome  by  the  sorrow  you  feel,  the 
greater  is  your  opportunity  for  courage  in  sorrow. 

For  these  reasons,  let  the  incident  you  describe,  be  one  in 
which  you  can  easily  imagine  yourself.  Let  it  be  one  in 
which  some  tender-hearted  or  big-hearted  person  is  making 
a  brave  struggle.  Realize  how  sorry  you  would  feel  for 
yourself  if  you  were  in  his  place.  Feel  that  you  must  help 
this  person  and  that  you  must  cause  those  who  hear  you, 
to  wish  to  help  him. 

Repeat  this  experiment  many  times.  If  you  find  your 
emotion  of  pathos  growing  weaker,  know  that  you  are 
slighting  some  causes.  Know  also  that  this  is  your  best  op- 
portunity for  growth.  Determine,  at  once,  to  discover  what 
causes  you  have  slighted.  Find  whether  you  have  failed 
to  imagine  the  incident  as  happening  at  the  present  moment, 
or  whether  you  have  failed  to  imagine  it  as  happening  so 
near  to  you  that  you  can  enter  into  the  sorrows  and 
struggles,  or  whether  you  have  failed  to  get  a  clear  con- 
ception of  the  sorrows,  or  whether  you  have  not  been  filled 
with  a  strong  enough  desire  to  help  those  struggling  "against 
odds."  Correct  these  errors  and  your  pathos  will  again 
become  strong. 

2.  Perform  the  experiment  of  building  the  emotion  of 
pathos  in  the  selection  quoted  below.  First  read  it  through 
carefully,  to  get  the  general  conception  and  the  purpose  of 
the  author.  Then  determine  to  forget  that  there  is  an 
author.  Forget  that  it  is  a  selection  you  are  experimenting 
with,  and  try  to  conceive  the  whole  incident  as  something 
through  which  you  are  passing  now  while  you  tell  it. 
Imagine  that  the  man  who  has  gone  into  the  war  is  a 
close  friend  of  yours.  Imagine  that  you  have  just  come 


374  DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 

from  his  home  with  a  message  from  his  wife  and  child. 
Imagine  that  you  go  to  the  place  where  his  regiment  is 
stationed,  when  you  learn  that  his  regiment  has  been  called 
into  active  battle.  Imagine  that  you  hasten  to  "the  front" 
and  arrive  there  just  after  the  battle.  Hope  intensely 
that  your  friend  has  returned  from  the  battle  unhurt, 
but  discover  that  he  has  not  returned.  Imagine  that  you 
now  go  upon  the  battle-field,  hoping  that  you  may,  at 
least,  find  him  conscious  and  able  to  receive  the  message 
of  love  and  cheer  which  you  have  brought  from  his  home, 
when  you  suddenly  come  upon  him — dead!  If  you  will 
work  these  thoughts  up  into  a  short  introduction  to  your 
story,  both  you  and  the  listener  will  be  much  better  pre- 
pared to  feel  the  sudden  and  intense  pathos  that  follows. 

You  will  realize  that  a  full  conception  of  the  story  de- 
mands that  you  be  such  a  friend  as  we  have  suggested,  who 
strongly  resents  the  sacrifice  of  such  a  noble  life  as  that 
of  his  friend,  and  who  resents  it  the  more  because  of  the 
loving  dependence  of  the  devoted  wife  and  child,  upon  that 
life.  It  will  deepen  your  emotion  of  pathos  if  you  will 
feel  that  you  must  take  the  sad  news  back  to  your  friend's 
two  dear  ones,  and  if  you  will  determine  that,  somehow, 
you  must  shield  them  and  lighten  the  blow  to  them  by  bear- 
ing it  in  part  yourself. 

The  selection  Before  Sedan,  by  Henry  Austin  Dobson, 
follows : 

Here,  in  this  leafy  place,  quiet  he  lies,  cold,  with  his  sightless 
face  turned  to  the  skies;  'tis  but  another  dead;  all  you  can 
say  is  said.  Carry  his  body  hence — kings  must  have  slaves; 
kings  climb  to  eminence  over  men's  graves:  so  this  man's  eye 
is  dim;  throw  the  earth  over  him.  What  was  the  white  you 
touched,  there,  at  his  side?  Paper  his  hand  had  clutched,  tight, 


BREATHING  AND  THE  EMOTION  OF  PATHOS      375 

ere  he  died— message  or  wish,  may  be.  Smooth  the  folds  out 
and  see.  .  .  .  Only  the  tremulous  words  of  a  child — prattle, 
that  has  for  stops  just  a  few  ruddy  drops !  Look !  She  is 
sad  to  miss,  morning  and  night,  his — her  dead  father's — kiss! 
Tries  to  be  bright,  good  to  mamma,  and  sweet.  That  is  all. 
"Marguerite "  Ah,  if  beside  the  dead  slumbered  the  pain ! 
Ah,  if  the  hearts  that  bled  slept  with  the  slain!  If  the  grief 
died — but  no — death  will  not  have  it  so. 

This  is  one  of  the  best  examples  of  pathos  in  the  lan- 
guage. Any  student  of  speech  will  get  strong  emotion  of 
pathos  from  this  selection,  if  he  will  perform  the  experi- 
ment faithfully  and  will  persist  in  it  until  it  is  his  own 
story. 

If  other  selections  are  desired  for  experiments  in  the 
emotion  of  pathos,  we  suggest  Little  Boy  Blue  (found 
among  the  poems  of  Eugene  Field),  and  His  Old  Father 
Satisfied  (published  in  Chicago  Advance  and  also  in  the 
excellent  collection  called  Heart  Throbs,  by  Grosset  &  Dun- 
lap,  N.  Y.). 


BREATHING   AND  THE   EMOTION   OF   PATHOS 

In  the  experiments  in  pathos,  the  student  has  probably 
discovered  that  great  help  sometimes  comes  from  a  sudden 
and  firm  control  of  the  breath.  This  may  seem  a  mechan- 
ical thing  to  suggest,  yet  breath-control  need  not  and  should 
not  be  a  mechanical  act.  Intense  breathing  is  so  closely 
bound  up  with  intense  thinking  that  the  two  acts  some- 
times seem  to  be  almost  identical.  This  is  shown,  in  a 
striking  way,  by  the  fact  that  the  ancient  Romans  used  the 
same  word,  "inspiro,"  to  indicate  the  taking  in  of  a  breath 
or  the  taking  in  of  a  thought  or  spiritual  influence.  It  is 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 

further  shown  by  the  fact  that  we  have  adopted  that  word 
in  our  own  language,  and  to-day  use  the  word  "inspiration" 
to  denote  either  the  breath  we  take  into  our  bodies  or  the 
higher  thoughts  we  take  into  our  minds. 

The  student  of  speaking,  then,  if  he  desires  to  acquire 
subconscious  control  of  breath,  that  will  aid  him  in  building 
natural  and  strong  emotion,  must  learn  what  there  is  in  his 
thinking  process,  that  causes  this  sudden  control  of  breath. 

If  you  will  look  carefully  into  the  process,  you  will  find 
that  you  take  in  a  quick,  full  breath  and  hold  it  firmly,  and 
that  you  do  this  subconsciously,  when  you  get  a  sudden  con- 
ception of  something  about  to  overcome  you.  For  example, 
we  do  this  when  we  jump  into  cold  water  and  it  comes  up 
around  our  chests,  or  when  we  see  someone  about  to  strike 
us,  or  when  we  see  ourselves  about  to  fall  a  great  distance. 
This  seems  to  be  nature's  way  of  protecting  herself.  The 
mental  process  in  such  cases  seems  to  be  this:  The  in- 
stant we  see  ourselves  about  to  be  overcome  by  something, 
we  have  a  quick  conception  of  the  size  or  power  of  the 
thing  attacking  us.  This,  at  once,  starts  the  faithing  proc- 
ess within  us.  That  is,  to  think  of  the  size  or  power  of  the 
opposing  thing  arouses  a  quick  desire  to  have  power  suffi- 
cient to  withstand  the  attack.  Our  breathing  is  so  closely 
associated  with  our  thinking,  that  when  the  mind  suddenly 
expands  to  attain  this  great  power  hoped  for,  the  lungs 
expand,  in  the  same  proportion,  so  as  to  have  ready  the 
physical  power  to  aid  the  mind.  It  is  of  supreme  im- 
portance to  the  student  of  speaking,  therefore,  that  in  any 
situation  demanding  great  pathos,  he  persistently  conceive 
himself  about  to  be  overcome  by  the  great  sorrow  of  which 
he  thinks. 


BASIC   CONSTRUCTIVE  EMOTIONS  377 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  OTHER  EMOTIONS 

.  We  have  experimented  with  but  four  constructive  emo- 
tions. These  four,  however,  are  basic  to  all  the  others.  If 
the  intending  speaker  has  formed,  from  these  brief  experi- 
ments, the  habit  of  sensing  keenly,  imagining  vividly,  con- 
ceiving clearly,  and  acting  freely,  in  his  thinking  processes, 
until  some  one  or  more  of  these  four  emotions  (delight, 
humor,  courage,  or  pathos)  is  aroused  whenever  he  thinks 
of  things  that  should  produce  them,  he  will  soon  be  able 
to  master  the  other  emotions.  That  is,  he  will  have  this 
ability  if  he  continues  the  practice  of  developing  and  edu- 
cating his  emotions  on  all  appropriate  occasions. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
SIZE  OF  VOICE 

THAT  many  public  speakers  who  have  made  good 
preparation  in  almost  all  other  points,  have  failed  to  appre- 
ciate the  value  of  the  voice,  is  shown  by  the  way  they  slight 
the  voice.  How  often  we  listen  to  prominent  speakers 
whose  voices  tell  by  their  weakness,  their  harshness,  etc., 
that  they  are  being  rapidly  worn  out  when  they  should 
be  growing  stronger  and  richer!  These  facts  should  im- 
press the  student  of  speech  with  the  thought  that  if  he  is 
to  do  his  best  work  and  enjoy  the  best  success  as  a  speaker, 
he  must  set  a  high  value  upon  the  voice,  and  learn  to  de- 
velop it  and  to  preserve  it. 


THE   VOICE  A  WONDERFUL   INSTRUMENT 

Consider  how  marvellous  a  thing  is  the  human  voice! 
Do  you  realize  that  the  most  perfect  instrument  man  has 
been  able  to  devise,  cannot  approach  the  ability  of  the  voice 
to  express  delicate  shades  of  meaning?  The  violin,  of  all 
musical  instruments,  perhaps,  most  nearly  rivals  the  voice: 
yet  what  is  the  highest  compliment  that  can  be  paid  the 
violin  ?  Is  it  not  to  compare  it  to  the  human  voice  ?  When 
we  have  heard  the  violin  played  in  a  manner  that  moved 

378 


WHY  SPEAKERS  NEGLECT  THE  VOICE        379 

us  to  raptures,  if  we  try  to  tell  someone  about  it,  how  do 
we  do  it  ?  Do  we  not  say :  "You  could  fairly  hear  the  sob- 
bing of  a  human  voice,"  or  "So  clear  and  distinct  was  the 
plaintive  pleading,  that  it  seemed  someone  must  be  speaking 
his  thought  to  us  ?"  From  these  things,  the  speaker  should 
realize  with  supreme  pride,  that  the  voice  is  the  standard, 
and  that  mechanical  instruments  are  mere  attempts  to 
imitate.  Even  a  hasty  examination  of  the  things  the  voice 
can  do,  will  convince  us  that  it  ever  will  remain  the 
standard  in  the  expression  of  thought  and  feeling.  What 
is  such  expression  but  the  speaking  out  of  our  experiences  ? 
And  is  the  voice  not  a  part  of  our  very  selves — our  mental, 
our  nervous,  and  our  muscular  selves,  which  have  had  those 
experiences?  How,  then,  shall  wood  and  metal — the 
materials  from  which  all  other  instruments  are  made — how 
shall  these  things  be  able  to  tell  life's  story  as  the  human 
voice  can  do? 


WHY   SPEAKERS   NEGLECT   THE  VOICE 

It  will  be  of  interest  as  well  as  of  value  to  the  student 
of  speech,  to  learn  why  it  is  that  many  public  speakers 
neglect  the  voice.  For  years  the  author  of  this  book  has 
been  interested  in  this  question  and  has  secured  the  per- 
sonal testimony  of  many  speakers.  From  these  testimonies 
he  has  learned  that  practically  every  man  who  neglects  his 
voice  in  speaking,  does  so  because  he  has  a  false  notion  of 
voice-training  for  speaking.  The  testimony  is  of  two  gen- 
eral classes.  The  men  in  one  class  declare  that  the  voice 
should  be  left  to  take  care  of  itself,  and  that,  if  this  be 


380  SIZE  OF  VOICE 

done,  a  better  voice  will  result  than  can  be  had  from  any 
special  training  of  the  voice.  By  "special  training"  these 
men  mean  some  training  that  is  not  a  part  of  the  thinking 
process  necessary  to  present  a  message.  The  men  in  the 
other  class  virtually  admitted  that  they  think  of  voice- 
training  as  something  quite  apart  from  the  process  of  think- 
ing, when  they  said  that  if,  when  speaking,  they  thought 
about  using  the  voice  correctly,  they  couldn't  concentrate  on 
what  they  were  trying  to  say.  All  this  is  an  erroneous  con- 
ception of  what  good  voice-training  is.  Since  the  voice  is 
so  intimate  an  agent  of  our  thinking  and  feeling  selves,  the 
best  training  of  the  voice  can  be  realized  only  through 
our  thinking  and  feeling  processes.  For  this  reason,  too, 
the  best  vocal  training  for  speaking  can  be  accomplished 
only  through  our  thinking  and  feeling  processes  while  we 
are  speaking.  Little  wonder,  then,  that  practical  men 
should  dislike  and  discard  any  training  of  the  voice  which 
they  think  is  apart  from  and  interferes  with  the  process 
of  thinking. 

With  one  opinion  of  the  speakers  questioned,  we  heartily 
agree.  Any  training  of  the  voice  for  speaking,  that  takes 
the  mind  away  from  the  subject-matter  about  which  the 
speaker  should  be  thinking,  is  worse  than  no  training.  In 
the  other  opinion,  namely,  that  all  voice-training  necessarily 
takes  the  mind  away  from  the  subject,  we  heartily  disagree. 
Experience  has  thoroughly  convinced  us  that  the  speaking 
voice  can  be  so  trained  as  to  make  the  speaker  a  better 
thinker  and  not  a  worse  one.  It  has  also  convinced  us  that 
when  the  voice  is  trained  through  the  thinking  process,  the 
development  of  the  voice  is  in  direct  proportion  to  the  de- 
velopment of  the  mind. 


THE  FUNDAMENTAL  QUALITIES  OF  VOICE      381 

When  such  training  is  found  by  the  speaker,  he  no  longer 
needs  to  be  urged  to  train  his  voice.  We  have  never  known 
a  student  of  speech  who  found  that  he  could  increase  his 
ability  to  think  and  at  the  same  time  acquire  a  good  voice, 
who  did  not  enter  upon  this  training  with  the  greatest  zeal. 
Such  a  course,  we  have  endeavored  to  outline  in  this  and 
the  following  chapters. 


THE  FUNDAMENTAL  QUALITIES  OF  VOICE  AND  THEIR 

SOURCES 

We  cannot  determine  the  needs  of  any  individual  voice, 
with  accuracy,  till  we  are  familiar  with  the  principal  char- 
acteristics or  qualities  of  the  voice.  A  careful  analysis 
shows  that  there  are  five  principal  qualities.  These  are: 
i.  Size  of  Voice;  2.  Strength  of  Voice;  3.  Endurance  of 
Voice ;  4.  Purity  of  Voice ;  5.  Flexibility  of  Voice.  Every 
tone  we  utter  contains  all  these  qualities  in  greater  or  less 
degree  of  perfection.  If  these  five  qualities  are  perfect, 
then  the  voice  is  perfect;  if  any  one  of  the  qualities  is  de- 
fective, then  the  voice  is  defective  to  that  degree.  There- 
fore, if  we  wish  to  train  the  voice  through  the  processes  of 
thinking  and  feeling,  we  must  first  discover  the  particular 
acts  of  thinking  and  fetling  which  produce  each  of  these 
qualities.  When  he  has  done  this,  if  the  student  of  speech 
finds  his  voice  deficient  in  any  quality,  he  will  know  what 
to  do.  He  will  turn  his  attention  to  the  particular  acts  of 
thinking  and  feeling  which  produce  that  quality  in  this 
voice,  and  stimulate  those  acts  till  his  voice  is  improved. 


382  SIZE  OF  VOICE 

Let  us,  therefore,  give  separate  attention  to  each  of  these 
five  qualities  and  the  sources  of  each. 


CAUSE  OF  SIZE  OF  VOICE 

There  are  two  distinct  uses  of  the  term  "size  of  voice." 
In  one  of  these  uses  we  refer  to  the  general  largeness  or 
smallness  of  any  individual  voice,  as  when  we  say  of  a 
person  that  he  has  a  large  voice  and  of  another  person 
that  he  has  a  small  voice.  In  the  other  use  of  the  term 
"size  of  voice,"  we  mean  not  that  permanent  size  which 
characterizes  the  voice  of  the  individual,  but  rather  the 
size  of  the  voice  in  proportion  to  the  thought  expressed, 
the  place  in  which  that  thought  is  expressed,  and  the  pur- 
pose for  which  that  thought  should  be  expressed.  If  we 
examine  the  two  meanings  of  the  term,  we  shall  discover 
that  a  voice  may  have  a  good  size  according  to  the  first 
meaning  and  a  bad  size  according  to  the  second  meaning. 

To  illustrate:  We  are  talking  with  a  speaker  who  is 
about  to  address  a  large  audience.  We  are  impressed  with 
his  voice,  and  as  we  are  leaving  the  room  behind  the 
platform,  one  of  us  exclaims :  "Hasn't  he  a  fine  big  voice." 
A  minute  later  we  are  seated  in  the  large  auditorium.  The 
speaker  begins,  and  we  are  amazed  to  find  how  very  small 
his  voice  now  seems  in  comparison  with  that  same  voice  in 
conversation.  We  listen  attentively  as  the  speaker  pro- 
ceeds, and  we  soon  note  that  though  he  speaks  of  many 
material  things  of  many  sizes,  his  voice  retains  the  same 
size.  We  notice  that  though  he  expresses  ideas  of  various 
"sizes"  of  importance,  yet  his  voice  retains  the  same  size. 


CAUSE  OF  SIZE  OF  VOICE  383 

When  the  speaker  has  finished,  we  come  away  and  con- 
sider what  we  have  discovered.  We  have  learned  that 
while  we  thought  this  man  had  a  very  large  voice,  yet  when 
he  came  to  speak,  his  voice  was  neither  large  in  proportion 
to  the  things  spoken  of,  nor  in  proportion  to  the  room  in 
which  he  spoke,  nor  in  proportion  to  the  purposes  for  which 
he  was  speaking.  A  closer  investigation  proves  to  us  that 
the  thing  we  heard  in  this  man's  conversation,  and  which 
we  called  a  largeness  of  voice,  is  a  quite  different  thing 
from  the  size  of  voice  which  we  expected  in  his  speaking 
to  the  audience. 

This  illustration  is  from  a  case  which  actually  occurred. 
Many  similar  ones  have  been  observed,  and  they  all  tend 
to  prove  that  the  term  "size  of  voice"  has  two  different 
and  distinct  meanings.  The  one  meaning,  as  previously 
intimated,  refers  to  the  largeness  or  smallness  of  one's  voice 
resulting  from  one's  physical  conditions  which  are  per- 
manent. The  other  meaning  of  "size"  refers  to  the  adjust- 
ment of  size  which  comes  from  the  process  of  thinking  and 
feeling  which  adapts  the  voice  to  the  demand  of  the 
moment. 

Accordingly,  in  our  efforts  to  train  the  voice  through  the 
process  of  thinking,  we  have  little  to  do  with  the  first 
meaning  of  the  term.  Through  the  mind,  we  can  develop 
the  size  of  the  voice  only  by  searching  out  the  things  which 
cause  the  size  and  then  developing  those  causes.  In  the 
first  meaning  of  the  term,  the  size  of  the  voice  is  caused  by 
something  over  which  we  have  no  direct  control.  If  the 
student's  voice  is  large  or  small  because  nature  has  made 
his  voice-box,  throat,  lungs,  and  mouth  large  or  small, 
we  cannot  hope  to  change  those  conditions  to  any  great 


384  SIZE  OF  VOICE 

degree;  but  we  can  hope  to  improve  the  student's  size  of 
voice  in  the  second  meaning  of  the  term.  That  rs,  we  can 
help  the  student  to  use  the  voice  which  nature  has  given 
him,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  suit  it  to  the  things  about 
which  he  speaks,  the  room  in  which  he  speaks,  and  the 
purposes  for  which  he  speaks. 

First  let  us  inquire  what  peculiar  acts  in  our  thinking 
are  affected  by  the  subject,  by  the  place  of  speaking  and 
the  purpose  of  speaking,  in  such  manner  as  to  change  the 
size  of  the  voice.  Two  persons  are  hunting  for  something. 
I  come  upon  them  and  ask :  "What  have  you  lost  ?"  One 
of  them  replies:  "A  needle."  I  notice  that  the  voice  in 
which  this  is  said,  is  almost  expressionless.  It  is  neither 
large  nor  small.  The  other  person  replies:  "It  is  a  tiny 
needle!"  I  instantly  observe  that  this  voice  is  noticeably 
different  from  the  other.  This  one  is  full  of  expression, 
so  full  that  it  makes  me  wish  to  help  find  the  lost  needle. 
The  strange  part  of  it  is,  that  this  voice  is  full  of  expres- 
sion because  it  is  a  small,  fine  voice.  I  investigate  the  cause 
of  the  difference  between  these  two  voices,  and  find  that 
the  person  who  spoke  first  had  no  clear  conception  of  the 
size  of  the  needle,  wrhile  the  other  person  conceived  size 
as  the  most  important  part  of  the  thing  spoken  of,  namely, 
the  needle.  This  clear  conception  of  the  size  of  the  needle 
caused  the  mind  of  the  second  speaker  to  get  vivid  im- 
aginative sensations  impressing  the  speaker  with  the  very 
small  size  of  the  needle.  Naturally,  then,  when  this  per- 
son tried  to  tell  me  about  the  needle,  the  mind  started  the 
faithing  process  at  once.  That  is,  the  mind  at  once  be- 
came filled  with  a  desire  to  cause  me  to  realize  the  size 


CAUSE  OF  SIZE  OF  VOICE  385 

of  the  needle  as  the  speaker  realized  it,  and  began  to  imagine 
what  it  would  be  to  have  me  realize  it. 

WHEN  THE  MIND  OF  THE  SPEAKER  ONCE  BECOMES  FIXED 
UPON  THE  PURPOSE  AND  DETERMINATION  TO  GIVE  TO  THE 
LISTENER  THE  SPEAKER'S  SENSATIONS  AND  CONCEPTION  OF 

SIZE  OF  THE   THING   SPOKEN   OF,    THE   VOICE   CANNOT   HELP 
ASSUMING   AN    APPROPRIATE   SIZE. 

This  is  the  law  of  size  of  voice  in  proportion  to  the 
subject  spoken  of. 

In  the  study  of  Emotion,  we  learned  that  the  faithing 
process  joins  the  action  of  the  body  to  the  action  of  the 
mind  in  such  manner  as  to  give  us  the  desirable  emotions. 
So  now  we  see: 

It  is  the  faithing  process  which  joins  the  action  of  the 
voice  (which  is,  after  all,  only  a  part  of  the  bodily  action) 
to  the  action  of  the  mind  in  such  manner  as  to  give  to 
the  voice  the  size  it  should  have  when  we  are  speaking 
of  things  whose  size  is  of  importance. 

This  suggests  the  process  by  which  a  speaker's  voice 
assumes  a  size  appropriate  also  to  the  place  in  which  he 
speaks.  The  present  writer  had  this  experience:  Three 
of  us  were  standing  beside  a  river  talking.  One  of  the 
men  took  a  boat  and  rowed  to  the  other  side.  The  two 
of  us  who  remained,  continued  to  converse,  in  voices  of 
ordinary  size,  when  we  suddenly  remembered  that  we  had 
forgotten  to  tell  the  other  man  something  important.  He 
was  just  leaving  his  boat  on  the  opposite  bank.  I  called 
the  message  across  to  him.  He  heard  it,  acknowledged  it, 
and  departed. 

I  suddenly  realized  that  my  voice  had  undergone  a 
notable  change  of  size,  The  voice  in  which  I  had  called 


386  SIZE  OF  VOICE 

across  the  river,  was  several  times  as  large  as  the  voice  in 
which  I  had  been  speaking  to  the  friend  beside  me  but  a 
moment  before.  More  than  this,  I  had  been  speaking  of 
the  same  thing  in  both  cases.  What  caused  my  voice  to 
grow  so  large  ?  The  instant  I  saw  that  the  man  to  whom  I 
wished  to  speak  was  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river,  my 
mind  quickly  conceived  the  distance  between  him  and 
myself.  The  same  instant,  I  began  to  desire  to  have  a  voice 
as  large  as  the  space  between  us,  and  began,  also,  to  imagine 
what  it  would  be  to  have  such  a  voice.  This  was  the  faith- 
ing  process  by  which  I  began  to  get  "the  substance  of 
things  hoped  for."  My  lungs,  my  throat,  and  my  mouth 
cavity  (the  whole  space  in  which  the  voice  functions)  in- 
stantly expanded  in  proportion  to  the  space  I  had  conceived 
between  myself  and  the  listener.  My  conception  of  the 
extent  of  this  space,  affected  me  in  the  same  way  that  a 
clear  conception  of  the  size  of  anything  talked  about 
affects  me. 

The  same  holds  true  in  any  room  in  which  we  may  be 
required  to  speak. 

To  make  his  voice  spontaneously  fit  the  size  of  the 
room  in  which  he  speaks,  the  speaker  must  first  get  a 
clear  conception  of  the  distance  between  himself  and  the 
most  remote  part  of  the  room.  He  must  then  become 
filled  with  so  intense  a  desire  to  have  a  voice  of  that 
size,  that  everything  about  which  he  speaks  assumes  a 
size  proportionate  to  the  size  of  the  room. 

That  is,  each  thing  spoken  of  will  appear,  to  the 
speaker,  as  much  larger  or  smaller  than  it  ordinarily 
does,  as  the  room  in  which  he  is  speaking  is  larger  or 
smaller  than  the  space  in  which  the  speaker  has  been  ac- 


CAUSE  OF  SIZE  OF  VOICE  387 

customed  to  speak.  When  this  takes  place,  the  size  of  the 
speaker's  voice  should  be  appropriate  to  the  size  of  the 
room. 

Note  that  we  have  said  that  his  voice  should  be  appro- 
priate to  the  size  of  the  room.  If  his  previous  vocal  train- 
ing has  been  what  it  should  be,  then  the  size  of  his  voice 
will  be  appropriate  to  the  room.  As  the  "previous  vocal 
training"  is  the  main  thing  with  which  the  student  of 
speaking  is  concerned,  we  must  add  a  word  of  help  here. 
If  the  speaker  has  not  repeatedly  put  himself  through  the 
process  of  creating  a  voice  proportioned  to  the  size  of  the 
space  in  which  he  speaks,  he  may  find  himself  failing  to 
modify  the  size  of  his  voice  even  when  he  thinks  he  is 
going  through  the  proper  process  for  creating  the  correct 
size  of  voice.  A  certain  student  had  formed  a  clear  con- 
ception of  the  process  by  which  the  voice  must  adapt  itself 
to  the  size  of  the  room,  but  had  stopped  right  there.  He 
thought  that  if  he  knew  just  what  should  be  done,  he 
would  forthwith  be  able  to  do  it.  In  the  weeks  which  had 
passed  since  we  had  first  started  the  class  upon  this  par- 
ticular vocal  training,  this  student  had  done  his  practicing 
in  one  room  of  small  size.  His  body  was  frail.  One  day 
we  took  him  into  a  very  large  auditorium  to  test  his  voice. 
Not  only  could  he  not  fill  the  room  with  his  voice,  but 
though  he  had  a  clear  conception  of  the  process  by  which 
he  should  adapt  his  voice  to  various  spaces,  he  had  but 
one  general  size  of  voice.  He  failed  in  the  large  room  be- 
cause his  body  had  not  learned  to  do  its  part  in  the  faith- 
ing  process  required  to  build  a  voice  for  large  rooms.  He 
was  but  one  of  hundreds  who  have  had  this  experience. 

There  is  another  experience  closely  related  to  this  one. 


388  SIZE  OF  VOICE 

Students  often  realize  that  the  body  as  well  as  the  mind 
must  be  put  through  the  process  of  creating  a  voice  for 
rooms  of  different  sizes.  They  adapt  their  voices  to  the 
size  of  the  room,  but  when  that  is  done,  they  maintain 
that  size  for  everything  said.  They  fail  to  adapt  the  voice 
to  the  various  sizes  of  the  things  spoken  of.  The  effect  is 
poor — monotonous.  If  the  intending  speaker  wishes  to 
avoid  such  experiences  as  these,  he  must  train  his  voice 
in  auditoriums  of  as  wide  a  range  of  sizes  as  possible,  and 
must  also  go  through  the  same  process  while  he  imagines 
himself  in  rooms  as  large  as  any  he  will  ever  have  to  use. 
In  each  effort  he  must  also  apply  the  law  of  size  of  voice 
in  proportion  to  the  sizes  of  things  discussed. 

We  have  now  seen  how  the  voice  acquires  size  propor- 
tioned to  the  size  of  the  things  about  which  we  speak,  and 
the  size  of  the  room  in  which  we  speak.  How  does  the 
purpose  for  which  we  speak  affect  the  voice  so  as  to  change 
its  size?  We  enter  a  room  where  a  mother  is  holding  a 
pretty  but  very  small  baby.  We  approach  them  and  say  of 
the  child :  "Isn't  she  a  dainty,  little  thing."  This  we  say  in 
a  small  voice.  A  moment  later,  we  notice  that  another 
lady  in  the  room  is  preparing  to  do  some  "fancy  work" 
and  is  opening  a  package  of  fine  needles.  We  exclaim: 
"Why,  how  can  you  work  with  needles  so  fine  as  those?" 
This  also  we  speak  in  a  very  small  voice.  But  presently 
the  mother  puts  the  baby  on  the  floor  while  she  turns  her 
attention  to  something  else.  Her  friend  thoughtlessly  puts 
down  her  "work,"  needles  and  all,  near  the  child.  The 
child  is  attracted  by  the  things,  and  reaches  for  them.  I 
am  standing  some  distance  away  when  I  see  this.  You  are 
near  the  child  but  do  not  see  it.  I  call  to  you:  "Quick! 


CAUSE  OF  SIZE  OF  VOICE  389 

The  baby  has  the  needles!"  This  I  say  in  a  very  large 
voice.  Why?  The  room  is  not  large  enough  to  cause  the 
change  from  the  very  small  voice  I  had  but  a  moment  ago. 
Furthermore,  I  spoke  of  the  same  two  things  which  before 
caused  me  to  use  a  small  voice,  namely  the  small  child 
and  the  small  needles.  You  reply:  "Why,  your  excite- 
ment did  it."  No,  I  was  not  excited.  If  I  had  been,  my 
voice  would  probably  have  been  very  high-pitched,  but 
instead  of  growing  larger  would  have  grown  smaller  and 
more  strained.  I  have  observed  this  result  many  times 
when  mere  excitement  ruled  the  speaker.  A  careful  ex- 
amination of  my  own  state  of  mind  when  I  spoke  in  the 
large  voice,  proves  to  me  that  it  was  the  purpose  for  which 
I  spoke  that  made  my  voice  grow  large.  The  instant  I  saw 
the  small  child  taking  the  small  needles,  I  ceased  to  think 
of  either  of  these  things.  I  thought  then  only  of  the  ter- 
rible suffering — perhaps  death — that  would  follow  if  the 
baby  should  swallow  those  needles.  I  realized  that  this 
disaster  could  be  prevented  only  by  the  extremely  quick 
action  of  the  one  to  whom  I  spoke.  My  purpose  in  speak- 
ing was  to  arouse  the  hearer  to  that  large  effort.  When 
this  large  purpose  filled  my  mind  I  could  speak  in  none 
other  than  a  large  voice. 

I  have  used  this  particular  case  in  which  neither  the 
things  spoken  of  nor  the  space  in  which  I  spoke  could 
cause  the  size  of  voice,  to  get  clearly  before  us  the  law 
by  which  purpose  governs  the  size  of  voice.  The  law  is 
this: 

When  the  speaker  says  what  he  says  for  the  purpose 
of  rousing  the  listener  to  action,  if  the  speaker  clearly 
conceives  the  size  or  import  of  that  action,  and  if  he 


39°  *      SIZE  OF  VOICE 

becomes  filled  with  an  intense  desire  to  make  the 
listener  realize  this,  the  voice  will  take  on  a  size  pro- 
portioned to  the  size  of  that  action,  no  matter  what  the 
size  of  the  things  spoken  of  may  be  or  the  size  of  the 
room  in  which  he  speaks. 

The  importance  of  this  law  can  hardly  be  overestimated. 
When  the  speaker  does,  in  this  manner,  stimulate  the 
listener  to  a  full  realization  of  the  effort  he  should  put 
forth,  the  speaker  has  used  one  of  the  most  powerful  agents 
at  his  command  to  influence  the  listener  to  do  the  thing 
desired. 


Practice  in  Speaking  on  the  Size  of  Voice 

Make  a  detailed  outline  of  the  above  discussion  of  Size 
of  Voice,  and,  from  this  outline,  practice  speaking  extem- 
pore until  you  are  ready  to  make  a  convincing  and  per- 
suasive talk  on  any  one  of  the  divisions  of  your  outline 
or  on  the  whole  chapter. 

Experiments  to  Develop  Size  of  Voice 

In  all  the  following  experiments,  the  student  should  ex- 
ercise great  care  not  to  make  his  voice  deliberately  do  cer- 
tain things,  but  to  put  his  mind  through  the  process  outlined 
in  the  experiment  he  is  performing.  Unless  this  is  done, 
the  voice  will  not  develop  to  any  extent,  and,  worse  than 
that,  the  student  will  progressively  make  himself  a  worse 
instead  of  a  better  and  stronger  thinker.  Dr.  Muckey,  in 
his  interesting  and  helpful  book,  The  Natural  Method  of 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  SIZE  OF  VOICE      391 

Voice  Production,  repeatedly  emphasizes  the  fact  that  the 
fundamental  thing  the  voice  needs,  to  make  it  pleasing  and 
enduring,  is  size  and  freedom  of  resonance  in  the  throat  and 
mouth  cavities.  He  also  emphasizes  the  fact  that  practically 
all  the  faults  of  the  voice  are  due,  fundamentally,  to  a  lack 
of  size  and  freedom  of  resonance  in  the  throat.  He  then 
shows  that:  The  freedom  of  throat  which  the  voice  re- 
quires, to  produce  good  tones,  cannot  be  perfected  through 
any  deliberate  act;  for  the  vocal  muscles  concerned  are  in- 
voluntary, and  any  attempt  to  use  them  voluntarily  destroys 
the  freedom  of  the  voice.  We  Rave  found  this  to  be  abso- 
lutely true.  Therefore: 

To  develop  the  voice  naturally,  we  must  create  the 
qualities  of  vocal  excellence  out  of  the  conception  the 
mind  holds  of  the  thing  discussed,  and  out  of  the  mind's 
attitude  toward  that  thing. 

A  moment's  thought  will  make  clear  the  reason  why  any 
attempt  to  make  the  voice  do  certain  things,  will  injure  the 
thinking  of  the  speaker  as  well  as  his  voice.  If  the  stu- 
dent makes  his  voice  perform  certain  acts,  by  mere  will 
power,  he,  for  the  time  being,  drops  the  thinking  process 
necessary  to  a  full  realization  of  his  subject.  Then,  when 
he  returns  to  the  theme  which  he  is  to  present,  and  again 
begins  to  think  it  out,  he  finds  that  the  vocal  exercises  he 
has  been  going  through  are  only  a  bother  to  him.  What 
is  the  result  ?  He  will  either  commit  his  message  to  memory 
and  deliver  it  in  a  mechanical  way  without  thinking 
(hence,  without  real  effect)  in  order  to  perform  again  the 
vocal  acts  he  has  been  performing,  or  he  will  discard  those 
vocal  acts  entirely,  and,  hence,  get  no  good  from  the 
experiments. 


392  SIZE  OF  VOICE 

I.  Experiments  to  Develop  Size  of  Voice  Through  the 
Size  of  the  Things  Discussed 

I.  As  the  first  experiment,  imagine  that  you  see, 
operating  a  short  distance  before  you,  a  powerful  hydraulic 
press.  Imagine  that  the  sides  of  this  machine  approach 
each  other  from  right  and  left.  Imagine  that  when  you 
first  look  at  the  machine,  its  sides  are  kept  apart  sixty- 
four  inches,  by  the  air  that  is  to  be  compressed  within  the 
chamber  between  the  sides.  Fix  your  mind  on  the  size 
of  the  space.  Realize  that  sixty-four  inches  is  a  huge 
capacity  for  the  machine,  more  than  four  thousand  times 
the  space  presently  to  be  seen.  Imagine  how  much  your 
own  voice  would  have  to  expand  from  its  ordinary  size, 
to  assume  a  proportionate  size. 

With  your  mind  fixed  on  the  immense  expanse  of  the  ma- 
chine before  you,  tell  a  friend  beside  you  that  the  machine 
is  expanded  sixty-four  inches.  As  you  do  so,  determine  to 
make  this  person  realize  this  space,  and  its  relative  im- 
mensity by  strongly  faithing  it  yourself.  Now  imagine 
that  the  sides  of  the  press  begin  to  approach  each  other. 
See  the  space  reduced  to  thirty-two  inches,  and  tell  your 
friend  so.  Now  see  it  reduced  to  sixteen  inches,  and 
tell  him  so.  Each  time  you  speak,  imagine  that  the 
space  is  just  half  what  it  was  a  moment  before.  Sense 
each  change  so  keenly  that  you  feel  as  if  you  yourself 
were  contracting  as  you  see  the  machine  contract.  Tell 
your  friend  that  the  sides  of  the  press  are  now  only 
eight  inches  apart,  now  only  four  inches,  now  only  two 
inches,  now  only  one  inch,  now  only  half  an  inch,  now 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  SIZE  OF  VOICE      393 

only  a  quarter  of  an  inch,  now  only  an  eighth  of  an 
inch,  now  only  a  sixteenth  of  an  inch,  now  only  a  thirty- 
second  of  an  inch,  and  now  only  a  sixty-fourth  of  an  inch 
apart.  As  you  imagine  that  you  see  each  of  these  changes, 
imagine  also  how  much  you  yourself  would  have  to  con- 
tract to  change  that  much  from  what  you  were  a  moment 
before.  Determine  to  make  your  friend  realize  this  as  he 
hears  your  voice,  just  half  as  large  as  it  was  the  last  time 
you  spoke. 

2.  In  the  second  experiment,  reverse  the  process  which 
you  followed  in  the  last  experiment.  Again  see  the  same 
machine.  See  the  sides  separated  by  the  exceedingly  small 
space  of  only  a  sixty-fourth  of  an  inch.  Now  see  the 
power  of  the  machine  reversed  so  that  it  expands  the 
chamber  very  rapidly.  Imagine  that  you  feel  just  how  that 
power  is  expanding  that  chamber.  Now  see  the  sides  of  the 
machine  pushed  apart  to  a  thirty-second  of  an  inch,  and  tell 
your  friend  so.  Now  tell  him  they  are  a  sixteenth  of  an 
inch  apart,  now  an  eighth  of  an  inch,  now  a  quarter  of  an 
inch,  now  half  an  inch,  now  an  inch,  now  two  inches,  now 
four  inches,  now  eight  inches,  now  sixteen  inches,  now 
thirty-two  inches;  and  now  they  are  sixty- four  inches 
apart.  Be  very  careful  not  to  speak  of  any  one  of  these 
sizes  until  you  take  time  to  imagine  that  you  actually  see 
and  feel  what  it  would  be  for  the  space  between  those 
compressing  plates  to  expand  to  twice  the  space  of  the 
moment  before.  Take  time  also  to  be  sure  that  you  are 
sympathetically  expanding  with  that  increasing  space.  If 
you  do  this,  you  can  keep  your  mind  absolutely  fixed  on  the 
space  about  which  you  are  speaking  and  yet  your  voice 
will  change  its  size  more  perfectly  than  it  could  do  if  you 


394  SIZE  OF  VOICE 

thought  of  nothing  but  the  voice  and  your  effort  to  make  it 
change  its  size. 

3.  For  the  third  experiment,  let  the  size  of  voice  change 
through  the  conceptions  which  you  form  of  various  heights. 
Tell  an  imaginary  friend  beside  you  to  look  at  an  object  a 
short  distance  before  you,  that  is  only  a  foot  in  height. 
Now  call  his  attention  to  something  that  is  ten   feet  in 
height ;  now,  to  something  that  is  a  hundred  feet  high ;  now, 
to  a  mountain  that  is  a  thousand  feet  high ;  and,  now,  to  a 
mountain  that  is  ten  thousand  feet  high.    Take  time  before 
speaking  of  any  one  of  these  objects,  to  let  your  mind  ex- 
pand as  the  last  object  observed  would  have  to  expand  to 
become  as  tall  as  the  one  you  next  imagine.    Use  the  last 
object  observed,  as  a  standard  of  measurement,  and  see 
it  increase  ten  times.     Have  so  strong  a  desire  to  impart 
to  the  listener  this  increase  that  your  lungs  expand  and 
fill  with  air,  and  the  voice-part  of  you  grows  larger  in 
proportion  to  the  greater  height. 

4.  In  the  fourth  experiment,  tell,  as  in  experiment  3, 
of  various-sized  bodies  of  water  which  you  imagine  before 
you.     First   see  before  you  a  very  small  pond  or  pool, 
only  ten   feet  wide.     Next  imagine  one  a  hundred  feet 
wide;  then,  a  body  of  water  a  thousand  feet  wide;  then, 
one  a  mile  wide;  then,  one  ten  miles  wide;  then,  one  a 
hundred   miles   wide;   and,   finally,   try   to  let  your  mind 
expand  enough  to  conceive  a  thousand  miles  of  nothing 
but  water  before  you.     Exercise  the  same  care  as  in  the 
last  experiment,  to  make  yourself  fully  realize  and  feel 
the   size   of   which  you   are   about  to   speak,   before  you 
speak  of  it.    Keep  in  mind  the  all-important  fact  that  your 
voice  will  assume  the  proper  size  if  you  let  yourself  keenly 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  SIZE  OF  VOICE      395 

imagine  what  it  would  be  to  expand  to  the  size  of  the  thing 
contemplated. 


II.  Experiments  to  Develop  Size  of  Voice  Through  the 
Size  of  the  Room  in  Which  You  Speak 

i.  Read  carefully  the  speech  called  "On  Affairs  in  Amer- 
ica," delivered  by  Lord  Chatham,  in  the  House  of  Lords, 
November  18,  1777.  Then  prepare  the  following  words 
from  that  speech :  "But,  my  lords,  who  is  the  man  who,  in 
addition  to  the  disgrace  and  mischiefs  of  the  war,  has 
dared  to  authorize  and  associate  to  our  arms  the  tomahawk 
and  scalping-knife  of  the  savage;  to  call  into  civilized  alli- 
ance the  wild  and  inhuman  inhabitants  of  the  woods;  to 
delegate  to  the  merciless  Indian  the  defense  of  disputed 
rights,  and  to  wage  the  horrors  of  his  barbarous  warfare 
against  our  brethren  ?  My  lords,  these  enormities  cry  aloud 
for  redress  and  punishment." 

Read  these  words  over  many  times  in  the  spirit  in  which 
you  imagine  Chatham  said  them.  Assume  his  mighty  vigor 
of  mind  and  nobility  of  soul,  and  feel  keenly  his  offended 
dignity.  Allow  yourself  to  say  no  phrase  of  these  words 
until  you  have  conceived  clearly  and  imagined  vividly  the 
things  of  which  you  are  about  to  speak.  When  you  have 
pursued  this  process  until  you  are  thinking  all  the  words  as 
your  own,  lay  the  book  aside  and  speak  these  words  in  a 
small  room.  Imagine  that  you  are  before  a  small  committee 
of  lords.  Feel  that  while  you  are  moved  by  these  strong 
and  large  thoughts,  you  are  so  close  to  those  to  whom  you 
speak,  that  you  must  compress  your  large  feelings — not 
decrease  them — into  a  voice  appropriate  to  the  room. 


396  SIZE  OF  VOICE 

When  you  have  repeated  this  part  of  the  experiment 
until  you  can  give  full  expression  to  every  word,  in  the 
very  small  room,  then  go  to  a  room  ten  times  as  large, 
a  room  that  will  seat  about -a  hundred.  Get  a  clear  con- 
ception of  just  how  much  larger  this  room  is  than  the 
small  one  in  which  you  spoke.  Conceive  every  object  of 
which  you  speak,  as  having  increased  in  size  to  the  de- 
gree that  this  room  is  larger  than  the  last  one  in  which 
you  spoke.  Have  so  strong  a  desire  to  cause  the  listener 
to  conceive  this  increased  size  in  everything  spoken  of,  that 
your  voice  becomes  larger  to  the  same  degree.  Repeat 
the  experiment  until  you  are  sure  that  you  have  expanded 
your  message  to  the  size  of  this  room. 

When  you  have  done  this,  then  perform  the  experiment 
in  a  room  that  will  seat  about  five  hundred. 

When  you  have  thoroughly  adjusted  your  mind  and 
voice  to  that  auditorium,  go,  if  possible,  to  a  room  that 
will  seat  about  a  thousand  persons,  and  repeat  the  ex- 
periment many  times. 

If  there  are  rooms  accessible  which  will  seat  three  thou- 
sand and  five  thousand  persons,  respectively,  then,  by  all 
means,  perform  the  experiment  in  these  rooms. 

In  every  case,  be  sure  to  get  a  clear  conception  of 
just  how  far  from  you  the  most  distant  part  of  the  room 
is,  before  you  begin  to  speak.  Be  sure,  also,  to  make 
yourself  realize  just  how  much  larger  this  space  is  than 
the  room  in  which  you  last  spoke.  Conceive  a  propor- 
tionate increase  in  the  size  of  everything  spoken  of, 
and  imagine  just  how  much  your  own  powers  of  think- 
ing and  feeling  and  breathing  must  enlarge  in  order  to 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  SIZE  OF  VOICE      397 

make  the  things  about  which  you  speak,  spontaneously 
expand  your  voice  in  proportion  to  the  size  of  the  room. 

In  case  you  cannot  actually  use  rooms  of  the  various 
sizes  suggested,  then  imagine  yourself  speaking  in  rooms  of 
all  these  sizes,  and  perform  the  experiment  with  even 
greater  care. 

Be  prepared  to  perform  all  these  experiments  before  the 
class,  imagining  that  you  are  actually  speaking  in  all  the 
various-sized  auditoriums  suggested  above.  This  is  one 
of  the  most  thorough  and  practical  developers  of  the  voice 
to  be  found,  and  the  speaker  who  desires  the  highest  pos- 
sible development  of  his  voice,  will  continue  these  experi- 
ments long  after  he  has  left  the  class-room. 


III.  Experiments  to  Develop  Size  of  Voice  Through  the 
Size  of  the  Purpose  for  Which  You  Speak 

Prepare  a  short  speech  in  which  you  plead  with  an 
imaginary  audience,  to  do  a  certain  thing.  Let  it  be  a 
speech  to  your  classmates,  calling  on  them  for  class  or 
college  spirit  or  loyalty,  or  a  speech  to  citizens,  pleading 
for  protection  to  the  community's  interests,  or  any  other 
situation  into  which  you  can  quickly  throw  yourself  and 
in  which  you  can  speak  with  a  spirit  of  earnestness. 

You  will  soon  see  that  if  you  are  to  develop  size  of  voice 
through  size  of  purpose,  it  must  be  done  at  the  end  of  your 
paragraphs.  You  must  first  set  before  your  audience  the 
things  upon  which  and  for  which  they  should  act.  This 
you  do  in  the  first  part  of  the  paragraph.  Then,  when 
this  is  done,  if  you  would  make  a  successful  plea,  you  must 


398  SIZE  OF  VOICE 

suddenly  realize  how  much  energy  it  would  take  to  accom- 
plish all  the  things  about  which  you  have  been  talking. 
You  must  also  become  filled  with  an  intense  desire  to  make 
your  audience  realize  this,  and  also  to  make  them  reaHze 
that  their  best  good  calls  on  them  to  put  forth  this  energy. 
This  you  can  accomplish  only  by  imagining,  each  time  you 
come  to  one  of  your  "summing  up"  or  pleading  passages, 
that  you  become  large  enough,  in  your  own  energies,  of 
mind  and  soul  and  body,  to  overcome  all  that  you  ask  the 
audience  to  overcome. 

Repeat  the  experiment  until  your  voice  shows,  in  its 
size,  that  you  have  done  this.  Be  prepared  to  do  this  before 
the  class  in  three  minutes. 

The  conditions  in  which  the  size  of  voice  is  most  largely 
affected  by  the  size  of  the  purpose  for  which  the  speaker 
speaks,  are  those  in  which,  to  accomplish  his  purpose,  the 
speaker  reaches  a  larger  climax  by  piling  one  minor  climax 
on  another.  Especially  does  this  increase  the  size  of  the 
voice  when,  to  reach  each  minor  climax,  the  speaker  places 
each  new  thing  mentioned  in  a  series,  on  top,  so  to  speak, 
of  the  things  mentioned  just  before,  and  conceives  the  size 
of  the  accumulation  thus  realized.  This  is  well  illustrated 
in  the  following  speech  taken  from  the  play  of  "Julius 
Czesar." 

2.  With  a  clear  conception  of  the  thought  expressed  in 
the  last  paragraph  above,  perform  the  experiment  of  build- 
ing size  of  voice  in  the  speech  of  Marullus  which  we  quote 
from  "Julius  Caesar,"  Act  I,  Sc.  I.  Citizen:  "Indeed,  sir 
we  make  holiday  to  see  Caesar,  and  to  rejoice  in  his  tri- 
umph." Marullus:  "Wherefore  rejoice?  What  conquest 
brings  he  home?  What  tributaries  follow  him  to  Rome, 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  SIZE  OF  VOICE      399 

to  grace,  in  captive  bonds,  his  chariot  wheels  ?  You  blocks, 
you  stones,  you  worse  than  senseless  things!  O,  you  hard 
hearts,  you  cruel  men  of  Rome,  knew  you  not  Pompey? 
Many  a  time  and  oft  have  you  climbed  up  to  walls  and 
battlements,  to  towers  and  windows,  yea,  to  chimney-tops, 
your  infants  in  your  arms,  and  there  have  sat  the  livelong 
day,  with  patient  expectation,  to  see  great  Pompey  pass  the 
streets  of  Rome ;  and,  when  you  saw  his  chariot  but  appear, 
have  you  not  made  an  universal  shout,  that  Tiber  trembled 
underneath  her  banks,  to  hear  the  replication  of  your  sounds 
made  in  her  concave  shores  ?  And  do  you  now  put  on  your 
best  attire?  And  do  you  now  cull  out  a  holiday?  And 
do  you  now  strew  flowers  in  his  way,  that  comes  in 
triumph  over  Pompey's  blood?  Be  gone!  Run  to  your 
houses,  fall  upon  your  knees,  pray  to  the  gods  to  intermit 
the  plague  that  needs  must  light  on  this  ingratitude." 


CHAPTER  XX 
STRENGTH  OF  VOICE 

WHAT  are  the  sources  of  vocal  strength?  We  hear  the 
voice  of  a  friend.  It  sounds  weak,  and  we  say:  "Are 
you  ill?  I  notice  that  your  voice  is  weak."  Or  a  friend 
has  been  ill,  we  hear  his  voice  and  instantly  say :  "Oh, 
he  is  better ;  his  voice  is  stronger."  Undoubtedly  the  com- 
mon belief  is,  that  strength  of  voice  depends  on  strength 
of  body.  With  certain  important  exceptions,  this  conclu- 
sion is  justified.  We  shall  treat  these  exceptions  later. 
For  the  present,  let  us  accept  this  principle. 

This  principle  accepted,  the  student  of  speech  sees 
clearly  the  first  step  he  must  take  to  secure  the  requisite 
strength  of  voice.  If  the  body  is  weak  in  any  part,  the 
speaker  should  put  forth  the  effort  necessary  to  strengthen 
it.  If  the  health  is  deficient,  even  to  a  slight  degree,  the 
speaker  should  use  every  reasonable  means  to  build  up  a 
buoyant  health.  If  he  is  healthy  and  strong,  he  should  so 
live  as  to  preserve  and  increase  his  strength.  This  he  can 
do  only  by  sane  and  regular  habits.  The  speaker  should 
eat  only  wholesome  food  and  should  eat  regularly  and  in 
moderate  quantities.  He  should  exercise  and  bathe  every 
day,  and  his  hours  of  rest  should  be  regular.  Only  by 
these  means  can  the  public  speaker  have  and  preserve  the 
strength  of  voice  that  will  be  demanded  of  him. 

400 


SOURCES  OF  VOCAL  STRENGTH       401 

Let  us  now  examine  the  exceptions  to  the  rule  that 
strength  of  body  will  insure  strength  of  voice.  Does  every 
man  with  a  strong  body  have  a  strong  voice?  Have  you 
not  often  heard  a  weak,  thin,  small  voice  issuing  from 
some  large,  strong  man? 

The  present  writer  found  so  many  of  such  cases,  that  it 
started  him  to  investigating  the  vocal  strength  of  those 
persons  who  have  developed  great  bodily  strength.  The 
result  of  these  investigations  is  interesting  and  valuable. 
Several  prominent  athletes  and  physical  directors,  whose 
bodily  strength  is  superb,  have  been  found  to  have  com- 
paratively weak  voices.  Some  of  these  men  have  very 
weak  voices.  The  author  took  physical  training  under 
the  direction  of  a  man,  who,  for  years,  had  been  a  teacher 
of  what  is  known  as  "health  gymnastics."  His  system 
of  exercises  was  of  the  very  best.  The  daily  practice 
of  these  exercises  had  given  to  the  director  a  magnificent 
physique;  yet  his  voice  was  so  weak  that  he  could  hardly 
make  himself  distinctly  heard  when  he  gave  his  vocal  orders 
in  the  gymnasium.  Such  cases,  numerous  as  they  are,  es- 
tablish a  notable  exception  to  the  rule  that  strength  of 
body  implies  strength  of  voice.  They  prove  that  general 
vigor  of  body,  essential  as  it  is,  is  not  enough  to  insure  the 
strength  of  voice  the  public  speaker  needs. 

We  made  a  closer  investigation  of  some  of  these  cases — 
of  men  with  strong  bodies  but  weak  voices.  We  found  that 
the  weakness  of  voice  was  not  due  to  a  diseased  condition 
of  the  throat  or  lungs,  or  of  the  resonant  chambers  of  the 
mouth  or  nose.  The  vocal  apparatus  was  all  healthy,  and 
ready  for  the  voice  to  be  made  strong.  The  evidence  com- 
pelled the  conclusion  that  the  strength  of  the  voice  depends 


402  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE 

on  mental  control  as  well  as  on  the  strength  of  the  body; 
and  confirms  the  thesis  stated  in  the  chapter  on  Size 
of  Voice  (p.  380).  We  there  declared  that  since  the  voice 
is  so  intimate  a  part  of  our  thinking  and  feeling  selves, 
when  we  are  attempting  to  communicate  our  thoughts  to 
others,  therefore,  the  best  training  of  the  voice  can  be  found 
only  in  our  thinking  and  feeling  processes  while  we  are 
speaking. 

In  what  way  are  the  processes  of  thought  and  feeling  so 
affected  by  the  things  of  which  we  speak,  the  place  in 
which  we  speak,  and  the  purposes  for  which  we  speak,  as 
to  strengthen  the  voice?  Recall  the  work  you  did  to  de- 
velop the  size  of  your  voice.  Does  there  seem  to  be  a  very 
close  relationship  between  size  of  voice  and  strength  of 
voice?  Does  it  seem  to  you  that  anything  that  will  so 
affect  your  thinking  and  feeling  as  to  increase  the  size  of 
your  voice  will  also  increase  your  strength  of  voice?  We 
are  apt  to  reach  this  hasty  conclusion ;  but  careful  investiga- 
tion proves  such  a  conclusion  unwarranted.  The  thing  that 
makes  the  voice  large  is  not  the  same  thing  that  makes 
it  strong.  The  very  largeness  of  the  thing  contemplated 
often  lessens,  and  sometimes  destroys,  the  strength  of  the 
voice. 

For  example,  three  of  us  have  gone  into  the  mountains. 
One  of  the  party  has  advanced  some  distance  ahead  of  the 
other  two,  when  we  who  are  behind  suddenly  see  an  ava- 
lanche crashing  down  toward  the  very  spot  where  the  man 
in  advance  now  is.  It  seems  to  us  that  the  avalanche  is  too 
wide  for  him  possibly  to  escape  it.  We  are  horror-struck 
at  its  vastness.  I  turn  to  the  man  with  me  and  exclaim: 
"Look !  The  avalanche !"  The  voice  in  which  I  say  these 


SOURCES  OF  VOCAL  STRENGTH       403 

words  is  extremely  large,  so  large  that  it  suggests  the  size 
of  the  avalanche,  yet  it  is  as  weak  as  it  is  large.  My  tone 
is  large  but  hollow  and  breathy.  It  is  the  tone  of  horror. 
Professor  Trueblood,  of  the  University  of  Michigan,  used 
to  say:  "The  tone  of  horror  is  the  tone  of  courage  with 
the  middle  punched  out."  This  is  a  very  good  description 
of  it.  It  suggests  a  large  thing  with  no  solidity,  no  strength 
to  it.  All  cases  of  horror,  dread,  amazement,  sublimity, 
etc.,  affect  the  voice  in  this  same  manner.  They  make  the 
voice  large,  but  hollow,  and  weak  for  its  size.  They  prove 
that  to  develop  strength  of  voice  we  must  go  to  other 
sources  than  those  of  mere  largeness. 

Let  us  return  to  the  scene  in  the  mountains.  Let  us  sup- 
pose that  we  again  see  our  friend  in  the  path  of  the  ava- 
lanche that  is  descending  upon  him.  We  are  just  as  dread- 
fully impressed  with  the  enormous  size  of  the  avalanche 
as  before,  but  now  we  suddenly  hope  that  our  friend  may 
escape  if  he  moves  quickly  enough  and  fast  enough.  We 
call  to  him :  "Run !  Run !  Run  with  all  your  might !" 
What  a  difference  in  the  voice  now !  The  size  of  the  voice 
is  about  the  same  as  before,  but  instead  of  being  weak  and 
hollow  the  voice  is  now  as  strong  as  it  is  large.  What 
caused  this  great  vocal  change?  In  the  former  case,  our 
minds  were  filled  with  the  size  of  the  thing  contemplated, 
but  we  felt  utterly  helpless  to  cope  with  that  thing.  In  the 
latter  case,  our  minds  were  again  filled  with  the  size  of 
the  thing  contemplated,  but  we  instantly  imagined  the 
supreme  effort  our  friend  would  have  to  put  forth  to  cope 
with  that  thing.  We  also  became  filled  with  the  determina- 
tion to  help  him  put  forth  that  supreme  effort.  The  result 
was  that  our  voices  became  filled  with  strength  in  proper- 


404  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE 

tion  to  the  task  conceived.  Here,  then,  we  have  the  first 
law  governing  the  strength  of  the  voice: 

When  the  things  about  which  we  speak  suggest  to  us 
a  task  for  those  to  whom  we  speak,  if  we  thoroughly  con- 
ceive the  energy  our  hearers  will  have  to  put  forth  to 
cope  with  that  task,  if  we  become  filled  with  a  determi- 
nation to  help  our  hearers  to  have  the  power  needed, 
and  if  we  feel  as  if  we  were  performing  that  task  with 
them  as  we  speak,  our  voices  will  be  strong  in  proportion 
to  the  task  conceived. 

It  will  be  seen  that  in  accordance  with  this  law  we  have 
strength  of  voice  not  only  in  proportion  to  the  things  about 
which  we  speak  but  also  in  proportion  to  the  strength  of 
the  purposes  for  which  we  speak.  This  should  be  obvious, 
for  whenever  we  are  so  affected  by  the  things  about  which 
we  speak,  that  we  speak  in  order  to  move  our  hearers  to 
do  something,  are  we  not  gaining  strength  of  voice  from  the 
strength  of  the  purpose  for  which  we  speak  as  well  as 
from  contemplating  the  things  about  which  we  speak? 

The  above  law  does  not,  however,  provide  for  the  strength 
of  voice  that  may  be  demanded  by  the  space  in  which  we 
speak.  How  is  the  speaker  to  realize  the  strength  of  voice 
this  may  require — how  is  he  to  create  it  out  of  his  think- 
ing processes?  Let  us  see  if  we  cannot  gain  some  help  on 
this  point,  from  the  work  we  have  already  done  in  building 
size  of  voice  in  proportion  to  the  size  of  the  room  in  which 
we  speak.  There  we  found  that  the  first  thing  the  speaker 
must  do,  is  to  get  a  clear  conception  of  the  distance  be- 
tween himself  and  the  most  remote  part  of  the  room  in 
which  he  is  to  speak.  He  must  clearly  conceive  how  much 
larger  this  space  is  than  the  space  between  himself  and  a 


SECOND  LAW  OF  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE    405 

companion  in  ordinary  conversation.  He  must  then  imagine 
how  it  would  seem  to  have  his  voice  expand  from  its  ordi- 
nary size  to  a  size  corresponding  to  the  space  contemplated. 
He  must  continue  to  imagine  that  his  voice  is  doing  this 
until  his  lungs  and  throat  do  so  expand.  When  the  speaker 
has  done  this,  he  has  made  a  good  start  toward  creating  the 
strength  of  voice  which  that  larger  room  requires.  Then 
there  remains  one  thing  for  him  to  do  to  realize  the 
strength  needed. 

The  speaker  must  conceive  that  the  energy  demanded 
of  himself  and  his  hearers,  to  enable  them  to  cope  with 
the  tasks  suggested  by  the  things  talked  about,  is  as 
much  greater  than  the  ordinary  energy  those  tasks 
might  require  as  this  room  in  which  he  speaks  is  larger 
than  the  ordinary  room. 

This  is  the  second  law  governing  the  strength  of  voice. 

This  will  not  only  leave  the  speaker's  mind  free  to  con- 
centrate upon  the  things  of  which  he  is  speaking  (instead 
of  the  troublesome  size  of  the  room),  it  will  also  expand 
everything  about  which  he  speaks,  in  size  and  importance. 
He  will  receive  stronger  imaginative  .sensations  from  the 
things  spoken  of  and  will  have  a  stronger  purpose  to  have 
his  audience  increase  their  energy  to  meet  the  larger  prob- 
lems which  now  engage  his  mind. 

We  have  now  considered  the  things  which  happen  in 
our  thinking  and  feeling  processes,  to  make  the  voice  strong 
when  there  are  great  or  unusual  demands  for  strength  of 
voice.  There  is  another  distinct  demand  for  vocal  strength. 
A  large  number  of  speeches  in  public  seem  to  require  no 
special  strength  of  voice  either  because  of  the  things  talked 
about  or  because  of  the  size  of  the  auditoriums  in  which 


4O6  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE 

they  are  presented.  But  it  is  an  error  fatal  to  good  speak- 
ing, to  conclude  from  this  fact  that  it  is,  therefore,  not  neces- 
sary to  pay  attention  to  strength  of  voice.  How  often  in 
every-day  life  does  the  average  man  find  himself  called 
upon  to  perform  a  task  that  requires  a  special  amount  of 
bodily  strength  ?  If  he  be  a  professional  or  a  business  man, 
there  may  not  be  one  day  in  a  thousand  when  such  a  de- 
mand will  be  made  of  him.  But  what  would  we  think  of 
this  man  if,  because  of  this  fact,  he  reasoned  that  his 
bodily  strength  would  take  care  of  itself,  and  if,  therefore, 
he  never  took  any  exercise  to  strengthen  his  body?  We 
should  think  him  unwise.  Shall  the  speaker  expect  to 
escape  this  principle?  If  he  argues  that,  because  he  will 
seldom  need  great  strength  of  voice,  he  will  let  his  strength 
of  voice  take  care  of  itself,  how  can  he  expect  full  success 
in  any  of  his  speech  efforts.  In  any  kind  of  speaking,  the 
fullest  success  can  come  only  when  the  speaker's  stock  of 
vocal  energy  is  so  great  that  whatever  he  says  issues  from 
a  reserve,  an  overflow,  so  to  speak,  of  that  energy. 

There  is  yet  another  reason  why  even  the  speaker  who 
expects  to  do  no  speaking  that  will  require  great  vocal 
power,  should  make  Sure  that  he  has  strength  of  voice.  Any 
speech-theme  that  is  brought  before  the  public  is,  by  that 
very  act,  raised  above  an  ordinary  subject.  The  audience 
expects,  and  has  a  right  to  expect,  the  speaker  to  lead  it 
into  some  fuller  realization  of  life,  no  matter  how  ordinary 
he  may  deem  the  subject  which  he  presents.  Recently  one 
of  the  prominent  college  presidents  delivered  an  address  in 
which  one  excellent  thought  followed  another  throughout  the 
hour,  yet  President seemed  to  regard  his  own  mes- 
sage as  so  ordinary  that  he  never  once  employed  that 


NORMAL  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE  407 

strength  of  voice  that  would  even  suggest  that  he  was  a 
leader.  The  result  was,  that  the  audience  was  bored  and 
tired  before  he  was  half  through.  Such  results  occur  too 
frequently,  and  they  impress  the  thoughtful  student  of 
speech  with  the  fact  that  as  soon  as  a  speaker  comes  before 
an  audience,  no  matter  what  his  subject  may  be,  it  is  his 
duty  to  lift  that  subject  out  of  the  ordinary  by  tapping 
those  sources  of  vocal  strength  which  will  make  him  a 
true  leader  of  his  audience. 

This  brings  us  to  the  question,  what  are  the  sources  of 
vocal  strength  to  be  found  in  quiet,  unimpassioned  speech. 
Here  is  a  speaker  who  has  nothing  but  a  little  story  to  tell, 
interesting  enough,  but  not  impressing  the  speaker  as  hav- 
ing any  particular  strength.  Before  him  is  a  small  audience 
of  only  a  hundred  people.  Yet  this  speaker  is  keenly  alive 
and  sensitive  to  situations  (as  every  speaker  should  be), 
and  the  instant  he  sees  these  hundred  people  before  him, 
he  feels  a  hundred  minds  centered  on  his  mind,  waiting  for 
him  to  move  them.  He  feels,  in  a  sense,  as  if  these  hun- 
dred people  were  opposing  him.  It  turns  his  mind  to  think- 
ing of  this  opposition  and  the  strength  requisite  to  over- 
come it. 

The  effect  of  such  a  situation  upon  the  speaker,  should 
be  like  the  effect  we  often  feel  from  a  sudden  physical 
shock.  (See  p.  376.)  When  shocking  or  greatly  sur- 
prising news  is  brought  to  us,  if  we  are  alert  to  the  import 
of  that  news,  what  is  the  first  thing  we  do?  The  common 
expression  for  the  act  we  perform  at  such  a  time,  is,  that 
we  "gasp,"  the  body  filling  itself  with  breath  that  it  may 
be  strong  to  resist  the  attack.  It  is  the  same  when  we 
make  an  attack  as  when  we  resist  one.  If  a  large  bulk  of 


408  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE 

any  kind  lies  in  our  way  and  we  go  at  it  to  move  it,  we 
instinctively  take  a  deep  breath.  So,  when  the  speaker  sud- 
denly "takes  in"  the  thought  that,  though  he  has  only  a 
simple  story  to  tell,  there  are  a  hundred  minds  before  him 
which  he  must  affect  by  this  story,  that  thought  greatly 
affects  his  strength  of  voice.  Whether  he  conceives  these 
hundred  minds  as  so  much  active  mental  opposition  that 
must  be  resisted  or  whether  he  conceives  them  as  so  much 
mental  bulk  to  be  set  in  motion,  if  his  conception  be  quick 
and  full  and  strong,  it  will  cause  him  instantly  to  fill  his 
lungs,  by  a  quick,  full  and  strong  breath,  before  he  speaks 
his  first  sentence.  This  will  start  a  decided  increase  in 
his  strength  of  voice. 

While  this  conception  of  the  number  of  minds  before 
him,  will  start  the  vocal  strength  the  speaker  may  desire, 
it  will  not  preserve  that  strength  throughout  his  speech. 

As  soon  as  he  has  conceived,  in  the  number  of  minds 
before  him,  so  much  force  that  he  must  cope  with  or  so 
much  bulk  that  he  must  move,  the  speaker  must  instantly 
recognize  in  his  message  the  strength  needed  to  perform 
the  task  before  him.  This  means  that  he  must  conceive  the 
strength  of  his  story,  however  simple,  as  being  multiplied, 
as  it  were,  by  the  number  of  the  minds  confronting  Lim. 
Whatever  has  been  ordinarily  interesting  to  him  in  the 
things  about  which  he  is  to  talk,  must  now  become  largely 
interesting  to  him.  Before  he  speaks  each  single  thought, 
the  speaker  must  conceive  in  that  thought,  so  great  an 
ability  to  interest  or  to  please  or  to  persuade,  that  he 
believes  it  cannot  fail  to  move  the  number  of  minds  ad- 
dressed. This  surprise  at  the  strength  of  each  thought,  as 
it  comes  to  him,  will  quickly  cause  the  speaker's  lungs  to 


THIRD  LAW  OF  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE          409 

fill,  thus  enabling  that  strength  of  voice  needed  to  make  the 
thought  move  the  audience. 

From  these  observations,  we  derive  the  third  law  of 
strength  of  voice.  It  is  this: 

When  the  speaker  so  sensitively  realizes  the  number 
of  minds  before  him,  that  he  recognizes  in  them  so  much 
mental  force  to  be  coped  with  or  so  much  mental  inertia 
to  be  set  in  motion,  if  he  will  conceive  a  proportionate 
strength  in  each  thought  he  speaks,  he  will  have  the  vocal 
strength  needed  to  express  that  thought. 

Or,  to  put  it  more  tersely, 

To  have  the  strength  of  voice  needed  for  the  utterance 
of  each  thought,  the  speaker  must  multiply  his  ordinary 
conception  of  the  strength  of  that  thought,  by  the  num- 
ber of  minds  in  his  audience. 

It  will  be  seen  that,  according  to  this  law,  the  speaker  has 
an  appropriate  strength  of  voice  for  the  smallest  and  least 
impassioned  thing  he  has  to  say  as  well  as  for  the  largest 
and  most  impassioned.  Of  course,  the  phrase  "number  of 
his  hearers,"  must  not  be  taken  too  literally.  It  hardly 
needs  to  be  said  that  if  one  were  to  stop  actually  to  count 
the  number  in  his  audience,  that  very  act  would  so  com- 
pletely divert  his  interest  from  his  subject,  that  he  would 
fail  to  apply  the  law.  An  excellent  rule  for  the  speaker, 
in  attempting  to  follow  this  law,  is  to  address  his  speech 
a  number  of  times  to  an  imaginary  audience,  imagining  at 
least  as  many  persons  as  he  will  have  in  the  audience 
when  he  faces  it.  Then,  when  he  comes  before  the  audi- 
ence itself,  let  him  again  imagine  as  many  persons  before 
him  as  he  has  previously  imagined.  If  the  audience  should 
happen  to  be  small,  this  act  of  mind,  established  in  his  prac- 


4IO  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE 

tice,  will  render  him  less  conscious  of  the  smallness  of  the 
audience,  and  less  depressed  by  it.  If  the  audience  should 
be  large,  this  practice  will  fortify  him  for  it  as  nothing 
else  could. 

It  is  sometimes  objected  that  this  law  is  not  universal  be- 
cause not  competent  to  give  a  speaker  the  vocal  strength 
needed  when  very  large  numbers  of  persons  confront  him. 
For  instance,  it  is  said  that  if  the  audience  numbers,  say, 
forty  thousand  persons,  he  would  not  have  the  vocal 
strength  necessary  to  convey  his  thoughts  to  all.  But  this 
objection  really  confirms  the  law  instead  of  disproving  it. 
The  law  states  that  if  the  speaker  "multiply  his  ordinary 
conception  of  the  strength  of  each  thought  he  speaks,  by 
the  number  of  his  hearers,"  he  will  get  the  desired  result. 
The  speaker  will  find  it  practically  impossible  to  multiply 
his  conception  forty  thousand  times,  or  to  increase  his  sur- 
prise at  a  new  thought,  or  his  in-take  of  breath,  anything 
like  forty  thousand  times.  These  are  the  basic  reasons 
why  he  has  not  enough  vocal  strength  to  carry  his  thoughts 
to  that  many  persons. 


Practice  in  Speaking  on  Strength  of  Voice 

The  speaker  will  make  clearer  to  himself  the  laws  of 
vocal  strength,  and  will,  at  the  same  time,  prepare  himself 
to  remember  and  practice  those  laws,  if  he  will  put  them 
into  immediate  use  in  speaking.  To  do  this,  make  an 
outline  of  this  chapter,  and,  from  this  outline,  discuss, 
extempore,  before  imaginary  hearers,  the  various  divisions 
and  the  entire  subject,  and  be  prepared  to  repeat  these  dis- 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE  4!  I 

cussions  in  an  interesting  and  persuasive  way  before  the 
class. 


Experiments  to  Develop  Strength  of  Voice 

Since  we  have  found  that,  whether  the  vocal  strength 
we  use  is  to  be  sought  in  the  things  about  which  we  speak, 
or  in  the  purposes  for  which  we  speak,  or  in  the  size  of 
the  room  in  which  we  speak,  it  always  is  contingent  upon 
the  speaker's  getting  a  clear  conception  of  some  opposition 
he  has  to  meet,  and  from  his  faithing  the  strength  ade- 
quate to  overcome  that  opposition,  let  us  take  advantage  of 
these  two  discoveries  in  performing  the  following  ex- 
periments. 

Let  the  student  of  speech  keep  in  mind  that  the  only 
speaker  who  succeeds  in  strength  of  voice,  is  the  one  who 
realizes  that  every  moment  the  speaker  is  before  an  audi- 
ence he  is  meeting  keen  opposition;  the  passive  opposition 
of  all  those  minds  against  his  one  mind,  waiting  for  him 
to  move  and  help  them;  the  opposition  of  every  new  idea 
in  his  speech,  challenging  him  and  demanding  to  be  fully 
appraised;  and  the  opposition  of  the  room  in  which  he 
speaks,  demanding  of  him  that  he  realize  how  everything 
of  which  he  speaks  has  grown  large  in  proportion  to  the 
size  of  the  room.  Let  the  student  also  remember: 

The  strength  needed  comes  into  the  voice  of  the 
speaker  only  when  he  so  suddenly  and  completely  senses 
some  opposition,  that  he  involuntarily  packs  his  lungs 
with  breath. 

Inasmuch  as  the  average  student  at  first  finds  it  difficult 
to  imagine  opposition  of  any  kind  strong  enough  to  bring 


412  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE 

the  desired  result  while  speaking,  it  is  generally  found 
best  to  begin  with  simple  experiments  which  require  no 
talking.  Another  important  reason  for  such  a  beginning, 
is  the  fact  that  so  many  students  have  formed  bad  habits 
of  breathing.  These  must  be  corrected  before  the  body 
will  respond  and  take  in  a  full  breath  as  quickly  as  strength 
of  voice  demands. 

1.  First  perform  an  experiment  to  see  how  quickly  you 
can  fill  the  lungs  with  air.     Understand  first  that  effective 
strength   of   voice   comes   only   when   the   upper  chest  is 
held  high  and  steady,  and  the  breathing  is  done  in  the  lower 
chest  and  the  abdominal  region.     To  make  sure  that  this 
is  the  way  you  breathe,  stand  erect  with  the  chest  held  high. 
Now  place  the  right  hand  on  the  chest,  to  see  that  it  does 
not  move.    Place  the  left  hand  on  the  wall  of  the  stomach, 
to  see  that  it  does  move.     If  the  chest  is  held  as  high  as 
it  should  be,  the  left  hand  will  find  the  stomach-wall  flat 
and  drawn  in.    When  you  have  secured  this  position,  take 
as  deep  and  full  a  breath  as  you  can.     As  you  do  so,  see 
that   the  upper  chest   remains   high   and  immovable,   and 
that  the  breath  fills  the  lower  chest  until  the  wall  of  the 
stomach  pushes  your  left  hand  forward.     When  you  ex- 
hale, still  keep  your  upper  chest  firm  and  stationary  and 
let  the  breath  be  sent  out  of  your  body  by  the  stomach- 
wall   as  it  moves  inward  toward  the  back-bone.     Repeat 
this  experiment  twelve  times,  each  time  trying  to  see  how 
much  more  air  you  can  get  into  the  lungs  and  how  much 
more  quickly  you  can  do  it. 

2.  As  a  second   experiment,   drop  both  hands   to   the 
sides  and  perform  the  whole  of  experiment  I  again.     To 
make  sure  that  your  chest  remains  high  and  stationary, 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE   413 

try  to  imagine  that  you  are  again  pushing  it  up  against 
your  hand;  and,  to  realize  that  the  abdominal  wall  is 
moving  outward  when  you  inhale  and  inward  when  you 
exhale,  again  imagine  your  hand  there,  moving  with  it. 
Each  time  you  repeat  the  experiment,  try  harder  to  pack 
the  lungs  full  of  air  in  an  instant  of  time. 

It  is,  of  course,  clearly  seen  that  the  last  two  experiments 
both  call  for  voluntary  acts  of  breathing.  We  have  given 
these  only  to  make  sure  that  the  student  breathe  as  he  should 
for  voice-building.  The  breathing  must  become  involun- 
tary before  it  can  be  of  any  direct  value  in  speech.  It  is 
necessary,  therefore,  that  the  student  now  set  his  mind  to 
those  tasks  which  it  must  perform  in  speaking,  and  which 
will  involuntarily  fill  the  lungs.  The  following  experiments 
will  help  you  in  those  tasks. 

3.  In  the  third  experiment,  imagine  some  persons  trying 
to  coerce  you  to  do  something,  the  thought  of  which  vio- 
lently offends  you;  for  example,  to  betray  a  friend.  Con- 
ceive clearly  that  both  the  determination  and  the  strength 
of  these  persons  are  great,  and  that  they  mean  to  use,  to  the 
utmost,  both  their  influence  and  their  strength,  to  coerce  you. 
Get  a  clear  conception  of  the  strength  and  determination 
you  must  have  this  moment,  to  resist  the  attack.  When  you 
have  realized  this,  say  to  the  imaginary  persons  who  are 
confronting  you :  "I  won't !"  Imagine  that,  when  you  have 
said  this,  they  press  nearer  to  you.  Conceive  how  their  de- 
termination increases.  As  you  do  so,  feel  a  like  increase  in 
your  own  power,  and  determine  to  make  these  persons  feel 
your  power  as  you  say  again :  "I  won't!"  Hear  their  threats 
and  see  their  muscles  tense,  as  they  prepare  to  lay  hold  of 
you.  Realize  that  the  moment  has  come  when  you  must 


414  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE 

make  these  persons  fear  you.  To  do  so,  convince  the 
strength  necessary  to  throw  them  back  and  away  from  you, 
and  fling  this  acme  of  your  power  at  them  in  a  final  "I 
won't!!!" 

4.  For  the  fourth  experiment,  imagine  that  a  friend 
comes  rushing  up  to  you  and  tells  you  four  things,  each  one 
more  surprising  and  more  joyful  than  the  last.     Let  it  be 
some  such  glad  tidings  as  that  one  of  your  best  friends  has 
just  had  four  rapid  and  splendid  successes,  each  one  requir- 
ing great  strength  and  effort.     Vigorously  imagine  your 
friend,   at  the  present  moment,  putting   forth   the  effort 
necessary  to  win  each  success  reported.     Hear  all  these 
reports  in  such  quick  succession,  that  each  one  makes  you 
catch  a  fuller  breath  before  you  have  had  time  to  lose  the 
last  one.    Repeat  the  experiment  until  the  four  things  come 
upon  you  with  such  quick  and  accumulating  force,  that, 
when  you  have  heard  the  last  one,  you  so  keenly  feel  the 
strength  it  required  to  achieve  all  those  four  things,  that 
you  become  filled  with  that  strength  as  if  you  yourself 
were  performing  the  tasks.     Let  this  strength  ring  out  in 
your  joy  as  you  say.    "Fine !    Great !  Great ! !" 

5.  In  the  fifth  experiment,  imagine  that  you  are  coach- 
ing a  contest  in  a  "tug  of  war."    Feel  that  your  side  can  win 
if  you  can  only  make  them  realize  just  how  much  energy  to 
use  as  exactly  the  right  moment.    Get  a  clear  and  full  con- 
ception yourself,  of  just  how  large  and  strong  a  pull  it  will 
take  to  win.    Get  into  the  rhythm  of  the  team's  motion,  and 
now  determine  to  make  your  words  impart  to  each  man  the 
energy  he  needs,  as  you  call:    "Pull!    Pull!    Pulll    Once 
more!    Now  you  have  it!!" 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE  415 

In  this  experiment  it  is  especially  important  that  the 
speaker  avoid  speaking  from  mere  excitement.  To  in- 
crease the  excitement  will  but  strain  the  voice  and  will 
not  develop  it.  The  purpose  to  arouse  the  listeners  to  put 
forth  a  certain  amount  of  energy,  must  come  from  the 
speaker's  clear  conception  of  just  how  much  energy  is 
needed,  and  from  his  realizing  just  how  it  would  feel  to 
be  using  all  that  energy  this  moment,  to  win  the  contest. 

6.  For  further  experiments  in  developing  your  vocal 
strength,  prepare  the  following  short  excerpts  from  litera- 
ture. Thoroughly  conceive  the  strength  which  must  have 
imbued  the  mind  of  the  speaker,  to  cause  him  to  utter  the 
words  quoted.  Conceive  yourself  as  becoming  each  of 
these  speakers,  and  conceive  yourself  as  imbued  with  and 
using  the  great  strength  you  have  conceived,  to  cope  with 
the  present  force.  First  use  these  lines  from  "Virginia: 
A  Lady  of  Ancient  Rome,"  by  Macaulay:  "Now,  by  your 
children's  cradles,  now,  by  your  father's  graves,  be  men 
to-day,  Quirites,  or  be  forever  slaves !  Shall  the  vile  fox- 
earth  awe  the  race  that  storm'd  the  lion's  den?  Shall  we, 
who  could  not  brook  one  lord,  crouch  to  the  wicked  Ten? 
O,  for  that  ancient  spirit  which  curb'd  the  Senate's  will! 
O,  for  the  tents  which,  in  old  time,  whiten'd  the  Sacred 
Hill!  In  those  brave  days,  our  fathers  stood  firmly  side 
by  side;  they  faced  the  Marcian  fury,  they  tamed  the 
Fabian  pride." 

Next  use  the  following  words  from  'The  Lady  of  the 
Lake,"  by  Scott,  in  which  the  speaker,  with  drawn  sword, 
places  his  back  against  a  rock  and  dares  a  whole  band 
to  attack  him:  "Come  one,  come  all!  This  rock  shall 


41 6  STRENGTH  OF  VOICE 

fly  from  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I."  Then  use  the  follow- 
ing words  (from  "Pibroch,"  Scott)  spoken  under  similar 
circumstances:  "Come  as  the  winds  come  when  forests 
are  rended!  Come  as  the  waves  come  when  navies  are 
stranded!" 


CHAPTER  XXI 
ENDURANCE  OF  VOICE 

THE  RELATION  OF  VOCAL  ENDURANCE  TO  SIZE  AND 
STRENGTH   OF   VOICE 

IT  may  seem  reasonable  to  suppose  that  when  the  speaker 
has  attained  adequate  size  and  strength  of  voice,  these  will 
also  impart  vocal  endurance.  Yet  a  closer  investigation 
shows  the  opposite  to  be  true.  The  more  completely  the 
speaker  is  filled  with  the  energy  of  his  subject  and  the 
occasion,  the  more  likely  he  is  to  let  his  energy  "run  away 
with  him/'  and  impair  his  endurance  of  voice. 

In  this  experience,  is  he  not  subject  to  the  law  of  life 
as  we  find  it  everywhere?  Anyone  who  has  raised  horses 
will  testify  that  it  is  the  colt  that  is  the  fullest  of  life  and 
"spirit,"  that  is  most  likely  to  exhaust  its  strength  and 
destroy  its  best  usefulness.  Who  is  it  requires  the  more 
control  and  careful  directing,  the  quiet  boy  or  the  boy 
who  is  ever  on  the  go?  The  voice  of  the  speaker  obeys 
this  law  of  life.  A  speaker  takes  the  floor  whose  alert  face 
quickly  shows  us  that  he  is  intensely  "alive  to  the  situa- 
tion." He  begins  to  speak.  We  listen  with  eager  interest ; 
for  we  expect  a  great  speech  from  a  man  who  has  "risen 
to  the  occasion"  as  he  seems  to  have  done.  At  the  first 
sound  of  his  voice,  we  know  that  his  subject  is  expanded 


41 8  ENDURANCE  OF  VOICE 

as  it  should  be  for  this  room  and  this  audience.  The  size 
of  his  voice  tells  us  that.  The  strength  of  his  voice  tells 
us  that  he  fully  conceives  all  the  energy  demanded  by 
each  single  thing  about  which  he  speaks;  but  it  tells  us 
more.  It  tells  us — all  too  plainly — that  the  speaker  is  giving 
all  his  strength  to  us  in  every  thought  he  utters.  He  is 
wasting  his  energy  in  two  ways.  He  has  put  so  much 
strength  into  the  smaller  things,  that  he  lacks  the  greater 
energy  for  the  larger  things,  hence,  emphasis  is  lost;  and 
he  is  putting  so  much  strength  into  the  first  part  of  his 
speech,  that,  as  we  presently  discover,  he  has  little  left  for 
the  last  part. 

The  experience  of  this  man  is  the  experience  of  every 
speaker  who  has  not  developed  vocal  endurance,  and  who 
makes  the  mistake  of  assuming  that  if  he  has  size  and 
strength  of  voice,  endurance  will  take  care  of  itself.  The 
relation  of  these  three  characteristics  of  voice,  is  clearly 
this,  that  size  and  strength  create  an  immediate  and  un- 
usual demand  for  such  control  of  voice  as  will  insure 
endurance. 


SOURCES  OF  VOCAL  ENDURANCE 

From  the  use  we  have  made  of  the  word  "endurance," 
it  is  evident  that  we  employ  it  in  about  the  same  sense  as 
"sustaining  power"  of  voice.  It  is  that  thing  in  the  voice 
which  prevents  it  from  using  more  energy  than  is  needed 
at  any  one  moment,  and  saves  the  rest  for  future  use. 

To  discover  the  basic  source  of  this  control,  the  author 
of  this  book  made  hundreds  of  tests  of  his  own  voice 


SOURCES   OF  VOCAL  ENDURANCE  419 

and  the  voices  of  others,  under  all  sorts  of  conditions.  He 
believed  it  would  be  highly  valuable  to  every  speaker,  to 
know  how  to  preserve  the  full  vigor  of  his  voice  without 
dividing  his  attention  between  his  subject-matter  and  the 
problem  of  saving  his  voice.  The  first  interesting  dis- 
covery was  that  there  is  a  peculiar  physical  source  of 
endurance  in  the  voice.  Whenever  the  voice  was  found  to 
be  retaining  a  stock  of  reserve-power,  while  the  mind  was 
acting  normally  and  freely  upon  the  things  discussed,  it 
was  also  discovered  that  a  distinctive  kind  of  breathing 
was  done  by  the  speaker.  At  these  times,  the  speaker  took 
very  full  breaths  into  the  lower  chest,  but  always  con- 
tinued to  inhale  after  the  chest  seemed  to  be  full,  until 
his  back,  to  the  right  and  left  from  the  vertebral  column, 
seemed  to  be  pushed  out  as  if  the  breath  were  backing  up 
as  an  over-full  stream  backs  up.  We  were  much  interested 
to  find  that  the  dorsal  muscles  along  the  line  where  the 
diaphragm  joins  the  back,  were  actually  pulling  backward 
as  if  to  make  room  for  the  reserve  breath  that  was  being 
stored  up  in  that  region  of  the  lungs. 

We  made  many  experiments  to  discover  whether  this 
dorsal  method  of  breathing,  as  we  soon  came  to  call  it, 
could  be  used  voluntarily,  and  if  so,  whether,  when  so 
used,  it  would  impart  the  desired  endurance  to  the  voice. 
We  found  that  we  can  use  this  method  whenever  we  wish 
to,  not  by  itself  but  as  a  climax  to  the  lower-chest  and 
abdominal  breathing.  We  were  gratified  to  find  that  this 
method  alone,  even  when  deliberately  used,  does  impart  the 
desired  endurance  to  the  voice.  Let  the  student  test  it  for 
himself.  Place  the  back  of  the  hand  against  the  back  at 
the  lower  part  of  the  chest.  Now  inhale  until  the  abdominal 


420  ENDURANCE  OF  VOICE 

wall  is  pushed  forward  and  the  back  is  pushed  backward 
against  your  hand.  Repeat  this  act  of  inhalation  until 
you  are  sure  that  your  dorsal  muscles  are  pulling  back 
vigorously.  Now  take  as  much  breath  as  you  possibly  can 
into  the  dorsal  region,  determine  that  your  dorsal  muscles 
shall  keep  that  extra  breath  there  as  a  reserve,  and  begin 
to  talk.  You  will  be  surprised  to  find  that  you  can  talk 
on  and  on  and  on,  almost  indefinitely,  and  yet  your  supply 
of  breath  will  not  be  exhausted.  These  experiments  have 
proved  that  the  direct  source  of  vocal  endurance  is  the 
dorsal  method  of  breathing. 

We  had  found  the  physical  source  of  endurance  of  voice, 
but  we  were  not  content  to  stop  there.  We  knew  that  the 
speaker  cannot  do  the  kind  of  thinking  he  should  do 
before  an  audience,  and  at  the  same  time  give  direct  atten- 
tion to  the  kind  of  breathing  be  is  doing.  We  determined 
to  discover,  if  possible,  the  answer  to  this  question : 

What  conception  of  his  subject  must  the  speaker  get, 
and  what  attitude  must  he  take  toward  that  conception, 
to  cause  him  to  use  dorsal  breathing  without  conscious 
effort? 

At  this  point,  some  excellent  help  was  received  from 
experimenting  with  athletes.  It  was  discovered  that  when- 
ever an  athlete  is  poising  for  such  an  effort  as  a  running 
broad  jump,  where  his  mind  takes  in  a  whole,  large  move- 
ment made  up  of  many  smaller  movements,  he  uses  the 
dorsal  breathing.  On  the  other  hand,  when  the  mind  of 
the  athlete  prepares  for  only  one  act  into  which  he  expects 
to  throw  all  his  strength,  as  in  the  shot-put  or  the  hammer- 
throw,  the  dorsal  breathing  is  seldom  done.  The  reason 
for  this  difference  became  clear.  When  the  mind  was 


SOURCES  OF  VOCAL  ENDURANCE     42! 

conceiving  the  running  broad  jump,  requiring  many  short, 
vigorous  strides  and  one  last  mighty  leap,  it  quickly  re- 
coiled from  expending  all  its  energy  in  the  first  strides.  The 
jumper's  mind  reached  forward,  so  to  speak,  to  measure 
the  whole  effort,  and  the  energy  he  must  save  for  the 
finish.  In  proportion  to  the  distance  the  mind  reached 
forward,  the  dorsal  muscles  seemed  to  draw  backward  to 
save  the  extra  energy  to  cover  that  distance.  This  seemed 
to  suggest  the  law  by  which  the  speaker's  mind  acts,  but 
to  make  sure  whether  this  were  true,  we  returned  to  our 
experiments  with  speakers.  We  found  that: 

Just  in  proportion  as  the  speaker's  mind  reaches  for- 
ward to  contemplate  the  task  found  in  a  whole  division 
of  the  speech  he  is  presenting,  and  the  energy  he  will 
need  to  finish  that  task,  in  that  proportion  do  his  dorsal 
muscles  store  up  the  breath  he  will  need  at  the  end  of 
that  division. 

This  is  the  law  of  endurance  of  voice. 

How  large  the  division  of  the  speech  shall  be,  which 
the  speaker  must  measure  before  he  begins  to  present  any 
part  of  it,  cannot  be  determined  arbitrarily.  Each  speaker 
must  find  this  out  for  himself.  He  should  determine  to 
grasp  a  clear  conception  of  as  large  a  division  of  his  speech 
as  he  can,  not  to  confuse  his  mind.  Sometimes  it  is  only 
one  long  complex  sentence;  sometimes  it  is  a  paragraph; 
sometimes,  more  than  one  paragraph.  At  least  it  must 
be  a  division  large  enough  to  comprise  a  number  of  small 
thoughts  to  be  joined  together  in  a  conclusion  or  climax. 

Of  course,  the  speaker  will  understand  that  this  process 
is  to  be  repeated  for  every  division  of  his  speech.  In 
other  words,  he  must  grasp  as  large  a  division  as  possible 


422  ENDURANCE  OF   VOICE 

at  the  very  beginning  of  his  speech,  and,  as  soon  as  that 
division  has  been  presented,  he  must  do  the  same  with  the 
next  part  of  his  speech,  and  so  on.  It  should  not  be  as- 
sumed, however,  that  because  he  has  stored  up  the  vocal 
reserve  that  will  enable  him  to  finish  a  division  of  his 
speech  with  a  fresh  voice,  therefore  he  has  all  the  breath 
he  will  need  to  deliver  that  entire  division.  What  he  has 
stored  up  is  reserve  voice,  not  to  be  used  but  to  be  kept 
to  insure  his  vocal  strength  even  after  he  has  finished. 
In  business,  it  is  considered  bad  policy  not  to  keep  a  re- 
serve fund ;  it  is  bad  policy  also  in  the  voice  business.  The 
law  which  we  have  just  discovered,  is  nature's  means  for 
keeping  the  reserve  which  the  voice  should  have.  If  the 
speaker  is  to  avoid  "using  up"  this  reserve,  he  must  profit 
by  what  he  has  already  learned  about  the  effect  on  him, 
which  every  new  thought  should  have.  In  our  study  of 
strength  of  voice,  we  found  that  every  thought  that  comes 
before  the  speaker's  mind,  should  come  with  such  fresh- 
ness of  interest  that  the  lungs  unconsciously  fill  as  the  mind 
fills  with  the  in- rush  of  the  "news"  the  thought  brings. 

This  law  of  strength  of  voice  must  be  followed  just 
as  constantly  when  you  follow  the  law  of  endurance  as 
when  you  do  not.  The  two  laws  help  one  another. 

There  have  been  remarkable  illustrations  of  the  way  in 
which  these  two  laws,  for  strength  and  endurance  of  voice, 
work  together  to  accomplish  vocal  wonders.  One  of  the 
most  memorable  instances  is  set  forth  in  a  story  which  the 
famous  actress,  Clara  Morris,  tells  about  herself.  When  she 
was  still  a  young  girl,  playing  small  parts,  she  had  to  go 
on  the  stage  one  evening,  unexpectedly,  in  a  scene  where 
she  had  to  give  an  alarm.  It  was  not  a  short,  impulsive 


SOURCES  OF  VOCAL  ENDURANCE      423 

alarm  consisting  of  one,  two,  or  three  words.  There  were 
several  lines  of  this  cry  to  be  spoken.  She  must  not  only 
make  the  outcry  strong  and  sustained,  she  must  make  it 
grow  stronger  and  stronger  until  everyone  who  heard  it 
would  be  roused  to  action.  Finally,  as  if  to  make  the  task 
impossible  for  her,  she  must  make  her  cries  heard  above 
the  awful  clanging  of  an  alarm-bell.  The  thought  of  the 
task  appalled  her,  yet  she  felt  she  must  conquer!  As  the 
moments  drew  nearer  and  the  enormity  of  the  task  grew 
upon  her,  she  felt  as  if  her  lungs  would  burst  with  the 
fullness  of  breath  she  had  taken.  As  if  to  protect  herself 
against  the  scene  that  seemed  about  to  overpower  her,  she 
unconsciously  held  this  enormous  breath  she  had  taken,  and, 
rushing  upon  the  stage,  shouted  her  first  cry.  Instantly 
the  great  bell  struck.  As  its  tone  startled  her,  Miss  Morris 
realized  that  her  next  cry  must  be  stronger.  At  this  con- 
ception, her  lungs  filled  fuller  than  before,  and  her  next 
cry  was  stronger.  So  with  the  next  and  the  next  and  the 
next  stroke  of  the  bell,  until  the  last  cry  was  given  in 
far  larger  and  stronger  voice  than  the  first. 

The  scene  ended  in  wild  applause;  and,  when  the  little 
actress  went  Behind  the  scene,  she  found  everyone  amazed 
at  the  voice  she  had  had.  She  had  so  fully  conceived  the 
whole  task  before  her,  that  she  had  given  herself  a  great 
reserve  of  breath  before  she  uttered  a  word.  Then,  in- 
stead of  using  up  that  reserve  in  a  useless  wrangling  with 
the  bells,  she  paused  each  time  the  bell  struck.  As  she 
paused,  she  let  the  task  of  the  next  moment  rush  upon 
her  with  such  freshness  that  it  brought  its  own  supply  of 
breath.  It  was  an  ideal  conception  of  the  two  laws,  one  of 
which  gives  size  and  strength  and  the  other  of  which  gives 


424  ENDURANCE  OF  VOICE 

endurance  of  voice.    In  no  other  way  could  she  have  had 
the  wonderful  success  in  this  scene. 

In  every  instance  like  the  one  just  cited,  where  the 
speaker's  voice  must  be  unusually  strong  and  must  sustain 
and  increase  its  strength,  the  co-operation  of  the  two  laws 
which  provide  for  strength  and  endurance  of  voice,  is  ab- 
solutely necessary. 

Nothing  else  will  save  the  voice,  at  such  a  time,  if  the 
mind  does  not  so  act  as  to  cause  a  great  storing  of  re- 
serve breath  at  the  beginning  of  such  a  task,  and  a  re- 
filling of  the  lungs  to  their  utmost  capacity  as  each 
small  thought  entering  into  that  task,  comes  before  the 
mind  of  the  speaker. 

But  let  the  student  of  speech  not  suppose  that  the  only 
time  he  will  need  endurance  of  voice,  is  when  the  voice 
must  perform,  some  great  feat  of  strength  and  endurance. 
Endurance  of  voice  must  be  cultivated  every  day,  in  all 
our  speaking,  if  we  would  have  it  when  the  great  need  for 
it  comes.  This  characteristic  of  the  voice  is  very  much 
like  manners.  There  is  an  old  saying  that  he  who  does 
not  practice  his  manners  in  his  every-day  life,  will  find 
them  wanting  when  he  needs  them  most.  The  reason  this 
is  true  both  of  manners  and  of  endurance  of  voice,  is  that 
when  the  time  comes  which  demands  either  of  these,  the 
mind  of  the  person  needing  either  is  then  too  much  occu- 
pied with  other  things  to  create  the  thing  desired.  He  must 
have  it  beforehand.  If  the  speaker  would  have  vocal  en- 
durance worthy  the  name,  he  must  make  it  a  habit,  even 
in  his  ordinary  conversation,  to  look  ahead  of  the  single 
phrase  or  sentence  he  is  about  to  utter.  He  must  see  so 
large  an  import  in  what  he  is  going  to  say,  and  must  take 


PRACTICE   IN   SPEAKING   ON   ENDURANCE    425 

so  live  an  attitude  toward  it,  as  to  cause  his  dorsal  muscles 
to  store  up  the  reserve  breath  necessary  to  render  the  effort 
progressively  stronger  to  the  very  end.  The  student  who 
forms  this  habit  in  conversation,  is  repaid  very  richly. 
He  soon  has  not  only  good  vocal  endurance  for  public 
speaking,  but  also  becomes  a  better  conversationalist.  His 
mind  is  quicker  and  more  receptive;  his  voice  is  more 
pleasing  and  effective;  and,  best  of  all,  he  enjoys  every- 
thing about  which  he  talks,  for  he  has  come  to  see  how 
everything  leads  up  to  something  worth  while,  hence  he 
feels  it  worth  while  to  say  it. 

The  student  at  first  usually  finds  it  difficult  to  bestir 
himself  to  so  large  a  conception  of  the  smaller  and  more 
ordinary  things  thought  about,  that  he  will  store  up  a 
reserve  of  breath  for  telling  about  those  things.  For  this 
reason  it  is  best  to  begin  the  development  of  endurance  of 
voice,  by  performing  experiments  where  greater  vocal 
strength  must  be  exerted.  It  is  best  also  to  experiment 
in  situations  as  simple  as  possible,  that  one's  mind  may 
have  little  else  to  do  till  it  has  mastered  the  process  by 
which  the  lungs  involuntarily  store  up  the  reserve  breath 
needed  for  vocal  endurance. 


Practice  in  Speaking  on  Endurance  of  Voice 

To  gain  the  greatest  possible  benefit  from  the  ideas 
presented  on  Endurance  of  Voice,  employ  them  at  once  in 
practical  speaking.  Make  an  outline  of  the  above  discus- 
sion; and,  from  this  outline,  speak  extempore  on  each 
division  and  also  on  the  entire  discussion.  Be  prepared  to 


426  ENDURANCE  OF  VOICE 

make  any  part  of  the  subject  interesting  and  persuasive 
to  the  class. 


Experiments  to  Develop  Endurance  of  Voice 

I.  For  the  first  experiment,  repeat  the  experiment  of 
coaching  a  "tug  of  war,"  found  on  page  414.  This  time, 
imagine  that  your  chief  purpose  in  talking  to  the  "team,"  is 
to  inspire  them  with  the  thought  that  their  success  lies  in 
their  ability  to  hold  back  their  strength  just  enough  to  make 
each  succeeding  pull  stronger,  and  the  last  one  far  the 
strongest  of  all.  Imagine  that  you  have  arranged  with  your 
team  to  make  twenty  pulls,  and  that  you  are  to  give  one  call 
for  every  pull,  calling  "one,"  "two,"  "three,"  etc.,  to  twenty. 

With  this  arrangement  made,  visualize  the  team  as  if 
before  you,  keenly  ready  for  the  signal  to  start.  As  you 
wratch  them,  try  to  imagine  how  much  strength  the  entire 
effort  will  take,  and  how  much  must  be  stored  in  reserve 
for  that  final,  gigantic  pull.  Realize  that  you  must  tell  your 
team,  by  the  strength  of  your  voice,  just  how  much  energy 
to  put  into  each  stroke — one  man's  strength  multiplied  by 
the  number  in  the  team — and  how  much  to  hold  back. 
Realize  that,  to  do  this,  your  voice  must  grow  stronger 
with  each  call.  Conceive  how  much  power  you  will  need 
in  those  last  five  or  six  calls,  and  determine  to  have  a  re- 
serve breath  great  enough  to  make  those  progressively 
stronger  than  the  others.  Repeat  this  experiment  until 
your  vocal  endurance  increases  so  much  that  you  feel  as 
if  you  fairly  win  the  "tug"  by  the  accumulating  power  of 
your  voice. 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  ENDURANCE      427 

2.  In  the  second  experiment,  build  endurance  of  voice 
in  the  following  lines  (from  Act  V,  Scene  3,  of  "Richard 
the  Third,"  by  Shakespeare)  :  'Fight,  gentlemen  of  England ! 
Fight,  bold  yeomen !    Draw,  archers,  draw  your  arrows  to 
the  head !    Spur  your  proud  horses  hard  and  ride  in  blood ; 
amaze  the  welkin  with  your  broken  staves!"    Imagine  the 
various  divisions  of  your  army,  to  which  you  speak,  im- 
mediately before  you.    The  "gentlemen"  are  one  division; 
the  "yeomen,"  the  second;  and  the  "archers,"  the  third. 
Realize  that  the  success  of  your  words,  in  sending  them 
forth  to  do  this  work,  depends  largely  on  the  great  up-lift 
you  will  give  them  at  the  end  of  your  speech.     Think  on 
this,  until  you  feel  that  you  have  as  much  power  in  you, 
ready  to  sound  forth  in  your  voice,  as  you  ask  all  these 
men  to  have.     Now  stir  them  with  your  speech!     Give 
your   first,    short   utterance   to   the   "Gentlemen,"    all  the 
strength  you  can,  not  to  use  up  the  "reserve"  you  will 
need   to    make    the    next    exhortation,    to    the    "yeomen" 
stronger  still.     Stop  long  enough  after  each  short  speech, 
to  conceive  clearly  the  kind  of  men  to  whom  you  speak 
next  and  the  kind  of  energy  and  action  you  expect  them  to 
exert.    Repeat  the  experiment  till  the  size  and  strength  of 
your  voice  are  several  times  greater  at  the  close  of  the 
speech  than  at  the  beginning. 

3.  As  a  third  experiment,  repeat  the  effort  of  speaking 
in  various  sized  rooms  (found  on  p.  395).    This  time  per- 
form the  entire  experiment  in  one  room  of  small  or  medium 
size.    Before  you  begin  the  speech,  consider  that  as  soon  as 
you  have  presented  it  in  this  small  room,  you  must  immedi- 
ately give  it  again  in  this  same  room,  but  imagine  yourself 
in  a  room  at  least  three  times  as  large  as  this  one.  Consider 


428  ENDURANCE  OF  VOICE 

that  as  soon  as  you  have  made  the  speech  the  second  time, 
you  must  give  it  a  third  time  in  this  same  room,  but 
imagine  yourself  in  a  room  at  least  five  times  as  large. 
Finally,  realize  that  you  must  immediately  follow  this  third 
effort  by  presenting  the  speech  the  fourth  time  in  an 
imaginary  room  ten  times  as  large  as  the  present  room. 
Get  a  full  and  clear  conception  of  just  how  much  power 
of  voice  you  will  have  to  put  into  that  final  effort,  and 
how  much  reserve  you  will  have  to  store  up,  in  order  to 
have  the  endurance  of  voice  necessary  to  make  the  last  of 
the  speech  as  strong  as  it  should  be,  and  yet  not  exhaust 
your  voice.  If  you  realize  this,  as  you  must  to  make  the 
experiment  a  success,  your  dorsal  breathing  will  fill  you 
with  the  greatest  breath-reserve  you  have  ever  had.  When 
you  have  done  this,  begin  the  experiment.  Make  your 
imaginative  change  from  one  room  to  another  as  quickly 
as  possible,  taking  only  time  enough  to  make  sure  that  you 
conceive  not  only  how  must  energy  you  will  need  to 
"conquer"  that  next-sized  room,  but  also  how  much  you 
must  still  keep  back  for  that  last  effort. 

This  experiment  will  show  you  how  much  help  endur- 
ance of  voice  receives  from  size  of  voice.  It  also  shows 
that  size  of  voice  cannot  be  what  it  should  be  until  en- 
durance of  voice  is  developed. 

4.  For  the  fourth  effort,  repeat  the  experiment  of  mak- 
ing a  short  original  speech  (found  on  p.  397).  If  the  speech 
you  made  before  is  not  satisfactory,  make  another,  consist- 
ing of  two  or  more  paragraphs,  each  succeeding  one  stronger 
than  the  preceding  one.  Let  the  speech  be  one  that  you  put 
decided  vigor  into  at  the  very  start,  yet  one  that  grows  so 
much  stronger  at  the  end  of  each  paragraph,  and  pro- 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  ENDURANCE     429 

gressively  to  the  end  of  the  whole  speech,  that  it  requires 
great  breath-reserve.  Each  time  you  perform  the  experi- 
ment, before  beginning  to  present  the  speech,  be  sure  to 
realize  so  fully  how  much  vocal  energy  your  whole  speech 
will  require,  to  make  it  what  it  should  be,  and  how  much 
greater  you  must  make  the  last  of  the  speech  than  the  first, 
that,  your  dorsal  breathing  shall  be  strong  and  full. 
Realize  that  it  is  for  this  experiment  that  all  the  other 
experiments  in  vocal  endurance  have  been  a  preparation; 
for  only  in  proportion  as  you  experiment  while  doing  your 
own  original  thinking,  can  you  be  sure  that  you  are  gaining 
the  vocal  endurance  which  you  will  need  in  the  very  event. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
PURITY  OF  VOICE 

To  make  clear  what  we  mean  when  we  speak  of  the 
purity  of  a  voice,  let  us  first  examine  those  things  which 
seem  to  make  the  voice  impure.  We  hear  someone  say 
of  a  certain  speaker:  "I  couldn't  enjoy  his  speech  be- 
cause he  seemed  to  talk  through  his  nose."  In  this  case 
the  voice  is  impaired  by  something  which  we  might  call 
nasality.  Another  speaker's  voice  is  so  harsh  that  it  rasps 
our  nerves.  Something  that  we  might  call  throatiness  is 
interfering  with  this  man's  purity  of  voice.  The  voice  of 
another  speaker  diverts  our  attentfon  from  his  speech  be- 
cause there  seems  to  be  much  breath  that  is  not  vocalized. 
The  purity  of  this  man's  voice  is  destroyed  by  something 
we  shall  call  breathiness.  Still  another  speaker  is  displeas- 
ing because  some  constraint  in  his  mouth  seems  to  check 
and  muffle  his  words.  In  this  case  vocal  purity  is  lessened 
by  a  thing  we  call  mouthiness.  These  four  examples  em- 
brace all  the  fundamental  forms  of  impurity  of  voice.  •  • 

We  have  examined  hundreds  of  cases  and  have  never 
found  a  voice  that  was  regarded  as  impure,  whose  fault 
did  not  prove  to  be  one  or  more  of  the  four  imperfections 
just  named.  When  we  say  a  voice  is  pure,  we  mean  that 
that  voice  is  free  from  nasality,  throatiness,  breathiness, 
and  mouthiness. 

430 


NASALITY  IN  THE  VOICE  43! 


CAUSES  OF  VOCAL  IMPURITIES,  AND  THEIR  REMEDIES 

Experience  has  taught  us  that  there  is  practically  no 
voice  that  is  entirely  free  from  these  imperfections.  It 
has  taught  us,  also,  that  when  these  imperfections  become 
deep-seated  in  the  voice,  it  is  sometimes  impossible  to  re- 
move them  by  merely  developing  those  processes  which 
tend  to  make  the  voice  pure.  It  is  first  necessary  to  find 
the  causes  of  the  impurities  and  to  remove  these  causes. 
The  conditions  are  found  to  be  closely  parallel  to  those 
governing  our  health.  We  know  that  the  principal  sources 
of  good  health  are  wholesome  food,  fresh  air,  and  ex- 
ercise. Yet  who  would  attempt  to  cure  a  man  of  a  dis- 
located hip  by  these  three  means?  His  hip  must  first  be 
set  right,  then  the  sources  of  good  health  will  do  their 
work.  So  it  is  with  a  "dislocated"  voice.  If  something 
is  interfering  with  the  normal  working  of  the  vocal  ap- 
paratus, the  first  thing  to  be  done  is  to  overcome  that  in- 
terference. When  this  has  been  done,  then  will  be  the 
time  to  turn  the  attention  to  the  sources  of  vocal  purity, 
and  let  them  sustain  the  purity  of  the  voice  as  the  sources 
of  health  sustain  the  purity  of  the  body. 


I.   NASALITY  IN  THE  VOICE 

Let  us  first  inquire  what  are  the  causes  of  nasality.  The 
common  understanding  of  nasality  seems  to  be,  that  the 
person  who  has  it  is  "talking  through  the  nose."  Careful 
investigation  of  many  cases,  however,  has  convinced  us 


432  PURITY  OF  VOICE 

that  this  is  never  the  real  condition.  The  person  who  has 
nasality  in  his  voice  does  not  talk  through  his  nose.  He 
fails  to  talk  through  his  nose.  This  very  failure  to  talk 
through  the  nose  is  the  direct,  physical  cause  of  nasality. 
This  physical  cause  often  has  a  mental  cause,  but  we  be- 
lieve the  case  of  nasality  cannot  be  found  whose  immediate 
cause  is  not  the  stoppage  of  a  part  of  the  resonance  which 
the  voice  should  have  in  the  nose. 

The  student  of  speech  can  easily  demonstrate  to  himself 
how  such  a  stoppage  causes  nasality.  I.  Place  the  thumb 
across  the  opening  of  one  of  your  nostrils  in  such  a  way 
as  to  close  the  nostril.  Now  speak.  Try  to  speak  in  a 
pure  tone,  free  from  nasality — you  cannot  do  it.  2.  Close 
both  nostrils  in  this  same  manner;  your  voice  will  be  still 
more  nasal.  3.  Now  place  the  finger  and  thumb  on  the 
sides  of  the  nose,  just  below  the  "bridge,"  and  pinch  the 
sides  of  the  nose  together.  If  you  speak  now,  you  will 
discern  a  different  kind  of  nasality.  4.  The  muscular  cur- 
tain that  separates  the  nasal  passages  from  the  throat,  is 
called  the  soft  palate.  If  you  are  able  to  do  so,  contract 
the  soft  palate,  draw  it  up  hard  and  high,  and  then  try 
to  speak  without  nasality.  You  will  find  it  impossible  to 
do  so.  5.  Now  impersonate  someone  who  has  a  cold  in 
the  head  that  has  made  the  soft  palate  thick,  and  you  will 
find  that  you  speak  with  nasality.  6.  Place  the  finger  and 
thumb  of  one  hand  on  the  soft  parts  of  the  throat  be- 
tween the  lower  jaw  and  the  voice-box,  and  press  the 
upper  part  of  the  throat  together,  and  you  will  find  it 
impossible  to  speak  without  nasality.  Make  this  same  test 
by  contracting  the  inner  muscles  of  the  throat,  without 
the  use  of  the  finger  and  thumb.  You  will  probably  find 


NASALITY  IN  THE  VOICE  433 

that  a  very  slight  contraction  there  causes  your  voice  to  be 
nasal.  7.  Now  keep  the  throat  and  lower  jaw  immov- 
able while  you  talk.  Remove  all  restraint  on  the  tongue 
so  that  the  "root"  of  the  tongue  is  allowed  to  rise  as  high 
as  it  will  when  at  rest.  If  you  now  speak  without  lowering 
the  tongue  or  the  voice-box,  your  tones  will  be  nasal. 

In  these  seven  tests,  you  have  listened  to  all  the  forms 
of  nasality,  every  one  caused  by  stoppage  or  partial  stop- 
page of  the  resonance  which  the  voice  should  have  in  the 
nasal  passages. 

To  make  sure  that  we  get  at  the  very  base  of  the  trouble, 
let  us  examine  each  of  these  seven  conditions,  to  learn, 
if  we  can,  what  causes  each  undesirable  condition.  The 
stoppage  of  the  nostrils  is  due  to  a  temporary  cold  or  to 
some  foreign  growth  within  the  nasal  passage,  either  of 
which  should  be  removed  by  medical  attention  as  soon  as 
possible.  The  same  is  true  of  the  thickening  of  the  soft 
palate.  The  rigid  tightening  of  the  soft  palate,  as  found 
in  the  fourth  test  above,  occurs  so  seldom  that  we  need 
give  it  no  attention.  When  the  upper  part  of  the  throat  is 
contracted,  this  condition  is  almost  always  caused  by  an 
abnormal  nervous  tension,  and  can  best  be  removed  by 
mental  processes  which  we  shall  consider  later.  The  last 
condition  which  we  found  producing  nasality,  was  that  of 
the  tongue's  being  placed  so  high  in  the  throat  as  partly 
to  lessen  the  nasal  resonance.  This  is  generally  due  to  a 
state  of  mind  and  body  commonly  known  as  "laziness." 
The  speaker  whose  tones  are  nasal  from  this  cause,  does 
not  put  vigor  enough  into  his  speaking  to  open  the  throat 
and  mouth  as  they  should  be  opened. 
This  last  discovery  suggests  a  possible  and  direct  remedy 


434  PURITY  OF  VOICE 

for  all  forms  of  nasality.  If  opening  the  throat  more  will 
remove  this  one  kind  of  nasality,  may  it  not  at  least  help 
in  all  other  kinds  ?  Make  the  test  and  you  will  be  gratified 
to  find  that  it  does  so.  You  can  stop  the  freedom  of 
resonance  in  the  nose,  in  any  of  the  ways  suggested  above ; 
then,  with  the  resonance  still  impeded,  if  you  drop  the 
tongue  very  low  and  open  the  throat  very  wide,  you  can 
talk  with  scarcely  any  nasality  in  your  voice.  The  simple, 
physical  principle  at  work  here  seems  to  be  this :  Nature 
demands  that  there  be  just  about  so  much  resonance  above 
the  voice-box.  If  some  bad  physical  or  mental  condition 
has  cut  off  a  part  of  the  resonance  in  the  nasal  passages, 
then  nature  demands  of  the  speaker  that  he  increase  the 
resonance  in  the  throat  enough  to  overcome  the  lack  of 
nasal  resonance.  When  the  speaker  does  this,  the  voice 
seems  to  abandon  its  nasality  and  to  assume  its  normal 
purity. 

This  raises  the  vital  question,  how  can  a  speaker  get  his 
throat  to  do  this  involuntarily?  What  attitudes  of  mind, 
toward  subject  or  audience,  can  he  learn  to  emphasize, 
which  will  cause  his  throat  to  open  in  the  desired  manner? 
To  discover  this,  we  began  a  close  observation  of  persons 
with  nasal  voices,  to  learn  when  they  unconsciously  speak 
with  the  throat  so  open  as  to  overcome  the  nasality.  The 
first  thing  we  noticed  was  that  when  such  persons  yawn 
and  try  to  speak  while  yawning,  their  nasality  disappears. 
At  first  we  could  not  make  much  use  of  this  knowledge. 
We  could  hardly  advise  speakers  to  yawn  all  through  their 
speeches.  They  might,  in  this  manner,  lose  their  nasality; 
but  they  would  also  lose  their  audiences.  We  began  to 
ask,  what  is  nature  trying  to  do,  that  causes  a  person  to 


NASALITY  IN  THE  VOICE  435 

yawn  ?  We  soon  discovered  that  one  of  the  principal  things 
nature  is  attempting,  is  to  fill  the  lungs  quickly  with  air, 
for  one  who  starts  to  yawn  never  gets  what  he  calls  "a 
good  one"  if  the  yawn  does  not  continue  till  the  diaphragm 
contracts  vigorously  and  effectively,  and  packs  the  lungs 
with  air. 

This  knowledge  began  to  be  interesting;  for  we  know 
some  of  the  acts  of  mind  which  involuntarily  cause  one 
to  take  a  quick,  full  breath.  We  know  that  when  a  person 
is  suddenly  attacked,  either  physically  or  mentally,  in  pro- 
portion as  his  mind  opens  to  conceive  the  amount  of  energy 
necessary  to  resist  the  attack,  in  the  same  proportion  do 
his  throat  and  lungs  open  to  take  in  the  breath  necessary  to 
enable  him  to  resist  the  attack.  It  occurred  to  us  that  when- 
ever a  person  whose  voice  is  nasal,  is  so  attacked,  as  when 
he  hears  startling  news,  his  nasality  should  disappear,  or, 
at  least,  that  it  should  be  much  lessened.  It  seemed  that 
such  a  result  would  necessarily  follow;  for,  at  such  times, 
the  throat  is  thrown  wide  open.  We  began  to  observe  nasal 
speakers  under  these  conditions.  In  most  cases,  the  result 
was  just  what  we  expected — the  nasality  disappeared.  In 
some  cases,  it  did  not  entirely  disappear  but  was  materially 
lessened.  In  a  few  cases,  there  seemed  to  be  little  change. 

We  gave  special  attention  to  these  persons  whose  voices 
remained  nasal  during  surprise  and  like  states  of  mind, 
and  found  that  some  of  them  had  malformation  or  disease 
of  the  nose,  which  could  be  removed  only  by  medical  aid. 
The  others  who  did  not  seem  subject  to  the  law  stated 
above,  were  found  to  be  persons  who  have  remained  in  a 
half-lifeless  attitude  of  mind  and  body  so  long,  that  they 
seem  to  be  unable  to  observe  the  above  law-tunable  to 


436  PURITY  OF  VOICE 

conceive  the  amount  of  energy  necessary  to  resist  an  attack. 
Such  persons  will  receive  the  most  startling  news  and  be 
greatly  surprised  at  it,  out  will  remain  worried  and  helpless 
while  they  utter,  in  a  high-pitched  drawl,  such  expressions 
as  "For  the  land's  sake !"  They  do  not  disprove  the  law ; 
they  only  prove  themselves  habitual  breakers  of  the  law 
by  which  nature  removes  nasality. 

These  investigations  show  us  clearly  what  is  to  be  done 
to  remove  from  the  voice  the  impurity  of  nasality.  The 
nasal  passages  should  be  examined  by  a  competent  special- 
ist, to  determine  whether  the  unpleasant  tones  are  caused 
by  a  condition  of  the  nose  which  only  an  operation  can 
remove.  If  not  caused  by  disease  or  malformation  of  the 
nasal  passages,  or  if,  after  treatment  for  this,  the  nasality 
still  remains,  the  speaker  must  cure  himself  through  his  own 
mental  processes. 

He  must  cure  himself  by  careful  and  persistent  ob- 
servance of  the  laws  of  size  of  voice,  of  strength  of 
voice,  and  of  endurance  of  voice,  for  all  these  laws  re- 
quire the  speaker  to  open  his  lungs  and  throat  for  quick 
and  frequent  and  full  inhalation  of  breath.  Those  acts 
of  mind  which  produce  dorsal  breathing  (see  p.  421) 
will  be  found  especially  helpful,  for  they  cause  the  throat 
and  lungs  to  open  their  widest  and  give  the  speaker  the 
most  solid  and  ready  strength. 


II.   THROATINESS  IN  THE  VOICE 

Sometimes  throatiness  is  a  harsh,   firm,   rasping  tone; 
sometimes,  a  loose,  rattling  tone;  sometimes,  a  third  form, 


THROATINESS  IN  THE  VOICE  437 

a  cracking  tone,  one  that  seems  to  break  in  the  throat  and 
drop  unexpectedly  and  unpleasantly  from  a  high  pitch  to 
a  low  one.  Whatever  form  it  may  assume,  when  we  speak 
of  throatiness  in  the  voice,  we  refer  to  an  unpleasant  im- 
purity that  calls  attention  to  the  throat  of  the  speaker  and 
seems  to  originate  there. 

To  begin  our  search  for  the  causes  of  throatiness,  let  us 
turn  again  to  one  of  the  tests  for  nasality.  We  found  that 
contraction  of  the  upper  part  of  the  throat  induces  nasality. 
We  next  found  that  if  we  lower  the  tongue  far  down  in 
the  throat,  with  the  upper  part  of  the  throat  still  contracted, 
the  nasality  disappears.  Make  this  test  again  and  you 
will  find  that  wherever  the  tongue  is  placed,  so  long  as  the 
upper  part  of  the  throat  is  contracted,  there  will  be  throati- 
ness in  the  voice.  This  proves  that  one,  direct,  physical 
cause  of  throatiness  is  an  undue  tension  on  the  upper 
throat,  that  lessens  the  resonance  that  should  take  place 
there. 

Now  make  a  test  that  is  quite  the  opposite  to  this  one. 
Relax  all  the  throat  so  that  the  tongue  drops  far  back  and 
down.  Now  speak  without  lifting  the  tongue  and  your 
tones  will  be  throaty.  The  same  principle  is  found  in  both 
tests.  In  the  first  case,  the  resonance  of  the  throat  was 
lessened  by  the  drawing  in  of  the  walls  of  the  throat.  In 
the  second  case,  the  resonance  of  the  throat  was  again 
lessened,  this  time  not  by  the  contraction  of  the  walls  of 
the  throat,  but  by  dropping  something  (the  tongue)  back 
into  the  resonance  chamber  of  the  throat  and  partly  fill- 
ing it. 

Now  make  a  test  that  is,  in  a  sense,  a  combination  of 
the  two  just  made.  Relax  the  throat  and  drop  the  tongue 


438  PURITY  OF  VOICE 

as  in  the  last  test.  Now,  with  the  throat  in  this  position, 
make  the  walls  of  the  throat  very  firm,  and  speak.  You 
will  find  that  this  produces  the  most  extreme  throatiness 
you  have  heard,  the  most  extreme  we  ever  hear. 

These  three  simple  tests  bring  before  us  the  following 
facts.  First,  the  throat  may  be  contracted  and  produce 
throatiness.  Second,  the  throat  may  be  entirely  relaxed  and 
produce  throatiness.  Third,  the  throat  may  be  partly  re- 
laxed and  partly  contracted  and  produce  throatiness. 
Fourth,  whether  the  throat  be  relaxed  or  contracted,  or 
both,  the  physical  cause  of  throatiness  is  a  lack  of  openness 
and  freedom  in  the  throat. 

Dr.  Muckey,  in  his  book  "The  Natural  Method  of  Voice 
Production,"  shows  these  interesting  facts  concerning  the 
throat:  i.  There  are  two  distinct  sets  of  muscles  in  the 
throat;  2.  The  action  of  each  of  these  two  sets  of  muscles, 
is  directly  opposed  to  the  action  of  the  other  set;  3.  One 
set  of  these  muscles  is  concerned  with  the  act  of  swallow- 
ing, the  other  with  the  act  of  vocalizing;  4.  To  produce 
pure  voice,  the  swallowing  muscles  must  be  wholly  re- 
laxed. The  above  tests  show  why  this  is  true. 

We  have  examined  many  cases  to  discover  what  causes 
throatiness.  It  is  always  partly  caused,  and  almost  always 
wholly  caused  by  some  defect  in  the  mental  attitude  of  the 
speaker.  In  very  rare  cases,  some  foreign  growth  is  found, 
or  the  tonsils  are  so  enlarged  by  disease  as  to  interfere 
with  the  resonance.  In  such  cases  surgical  aid  may  be 
necessary.  In  practically  all  cases,  however,  the  mental 
state  of  the  speaker  will  be  found  to  have  much  to  do  with 
throatiness.  If  the  throatiness  is  caused  by  a  contraction 
of  the  throat,  the  speaker  is  on  some  unnecessary  mental 


THROATINESS   IN  THE  VOICE  439 

strain.  He  has  not  full  confidence  in  himself  or  in  his 
subject.  Sometimes  such  a  speaker  has  not  a  clear  con- 
ception of  his  subject  or  of  the  purpose  for  which  he 
speaks.  Sometimes  he  has  not  learned  to  take  an  active 
enough  attitude  toward  everything  about  which  he  speaks, 
to  cause  him  to  "let  go"  and  open  his  entire  being  to 
receive  the  truth  quickly  and  fully.  The  speaker  whose 
voice  is  throaty  because  the  throat  is  too  much  relaxed, 
has  a  careless  regard  for  himself,  his  subject,  or  his  audi- 
ence— sometimes  for  all  three.  This  causes  him  to  drop 
into  a  comfortable  indifference  in  his  speaking,  which,  in 
turn,  causes  the  tongue  to  drop  into  the  throat.  This  is 
the  voice  of  the  easy-going  "Hoosier"  type,  for  example. 
When  the  throatiness  is  caused  by  the  dropping  of  the 
tongue  into  the  throat  and  the  contracting  of  the  throat 
in  that  position,  the  mental  attitude  of  the  speaker  is  what 
we  might  call  intensified  indifference.  The  speaker  has  so 
long  allowed  himself  to  be  indifferent  toward  things  of 
which  he  speaks  that  he  is  now  unsympathetic,  and  harsh 
toward  those  things.  We  hear  an  ideal  example  of  this 
form  of  throatiness,  when  an  irritable  person  snarls  out: 
"Take  that  thing  away!"  in  what  is  known  as  a  "gut- 
tural" tone.  Another  well-known  example  is  the  arrogant, 
egotistical  speaker.  This  kind  of  person  seems  not  only  to 
drop  the  tongue  but  to  force  it  down  into  the  throat, 
farther  and  farther,  in  proportion  as  his  arrogance  rises 
higher.  As  he  does  this,  his  voice  grows  more  and  more 
throaty  So,  whatever  form  of  stoppage  the  throat  of  the 
speaker  may  have,  we  find  that  the  mental  cause  is  a  lack 
of  alert  openmindedness  to  receive  the  truth  and  a  lack  of 
openheartedness  to  give  out  the  truth  to  others. 


44°  PURITY  OF  VOICE 

From  this  it  is  clear  that  the  remedy  for  throatiness  is 
practically  the  same  as  for  nasality.  The  speaker  who  is 
troubled  with  this  form  of  vocal  impurity,  may  possibly 
find  it  advisable  to  consult  a  specialist,  to  ascertain  whether 
the  throat  needs  medical  attention.  Whether  he  does  this 
or  not,  he  will  find  it  necessary  to  change  his  mental  atti- 
tudes. 

The  speaker  troubled  with  throatiness  must  form 
quicker  and  larger  conceptions  of  everything  about  which 
he  speaks,  and  must  become  as  alert  and  open  to  receive 
each  thought  as  if  it  were  a  startling  piece  of  news,  so 
that  a  large  new  breath  is  taken  with  each  new  thought. 
Above  all  he  must  observe  the  laws  of  endurance  of 
voice  until  he  has  developed  a  good,  strong  dorsal  method 
of  breathing,  and  must  become  filled  with  such  a  strong 
desire  to  help  his  hearers,  that  he  forgets  himself. 


III.    BREATHINESS  IN  THE  VOICE 

Breathiness  is  that  condition  of  the  voice  in  which  there 
seems  to  be  too  much  breath  and  too  little  voice — more 
breath  than  the  speaker  can  vocalize  or  turn  into  clear 
voice. 

To  find  the  causes  of  breathiness,  let  us  first  inquire 
under  what  conditions  people  speak  in  such  a  voice.  Care- 
ful investigation  has  shown  the  following  to  be  the  principal 
occasions  when  persons  speak  in  breathy  tones:  I.  When 
secret;  2.  When  very  cautious;  3.  When  scared;  4.  When 
awe-struck ;  5.  When  exhausted ;  6.  When  weak  or  feeble ; 
7.  When  too  fat. 


BREATHINESS  IN  THE  VOICE  44! 

It  will  be  observed  that  conditions  i,  2,  3,  and  4  are 
mental,  while  5,  6,  and  7  are  physical.  We  :hall  first 
analyze  these  mental  states,  to  find  what  there  is  in  the 
mind  of  a  speaker  to  cause  his  voice  to  be  breathy,  then 
turn  our  attention  to  the  physical  conditions.  When  a 
person  is  telling  a  secret,  we  say  he  whispers.  By  this  we 
mean  that  his  utterance  is  all  breath  and  no  voice.  What 
has  caused  this  speaker  to  lose  his  voice  and  to  try  to 
send  his  message  to  the  listener,  by  voiceless  breath  alone? 
Assume  this  state  yourself  and  you  will  find  that  your 
principal  concern  is  for  the  person  who  might  hear.  You 
contemplate  how  bad  it  would  be  if  this  undesired  person 
should  hear  your  secret,  till  you  begin  to  fear  that  he 
may  hear  it.  In  proportion  as  your  mind  becomes  more 
and  more  absorbed  in  this  fear,  does  your  voice  become 
more  and  more  absorbed  till  only  the  breathy  whisper 
remains. 

When  we  analyze  the  state  of  mind  of  a  speaker  who 
is  exercising  extreme  caution,  we  find  it  very  much  the 
same.  He  is  not  fearing  that  someone  may  hear,  but  he 
is  turning  his  mind  to  contemplate  a  thing  which  he  does 
not  desire  and  from  which  he  is  trying  to  save  the  listener. 
As  soon  as  he  begins  to  think  of  this  thing  not  desired,  he 
begins  to  imagine  how  bad  it  would  be  to  experience  that 
thing.  In  other  words,  he  starts  the  fearing  process.  In 
proportion  as  his  mind  becomes  absorbed  in  this  process, 
does  his  voice  become  absorbed  in  breathiness. 

When  the  voice  becomes  breathy  through  the  speaker's 
being  scared,  it  is  evident  that  the  mental  process  is  the 
same.  He  is  contemplating  something  that  he  fears  may 
overcome  him.  He  keeps  on  contemplating  this  thing  till 


442  PURITY  OF  VOICE 

he  begins  to  "get  the  substance  of  the  thing  not  desired"; 
in  other  words,  till  he  begins  to  be  overcome.  In  the  same 
degree  in  which  this  takes  place,  will  his  voice  be  overcome 
and  only  breathiness  remain. 

When  the  speaker  is  awe-struck,  we  find  the  mental 
process  which  produces  breathiness  is  virtually  the  same. 
Such  a  speaker  is  not  contemplating  something  that  he 
really  fears ;  but  he  is  conceiving  something  so  large,  so 
immense,  or  so  vast,  that  he  feels  his  own  utter  helpless- 
ness in  the  presence  of  this  thing.  In  proportion  as  his 
mind  dwells  on  his  helplessness,  will  his  voice  become 
helpless  and  lost  in  breathiness. 

So  we  find  that  whatever  degree  of  breathiness  the 
speaker  may  have,  if  it  arises  from  a  mental  cause,  then 

THE  MENTAL  PROCESS  CAUSING  BREATHINESS  IS  THE  CON- 
CEIVING OF  SOMETHING  NOT  DESIRED  AND  THE  PROCESS  OF 
FEARING,  OR  "GETTING  THE  SUBSTANCE  OF  SOMETHING  NOT 
DESIRED." 

Let  us  now  analyze  those  cases  of  breathiness  which  seem 
to  come  from  physical  causes.  Here  comes  a  messenger 
running.  He  has  evidently  run  a  long  distance;  and  when 
he  tries  to  speak  his  message  to  us,  we  can  hardly  under- 
stand him,  his  tones  are  so  breathy.  We  say  he  is  ex- 
hausted. What  do  we  mean  by  that?  Someone  replies: 
"We  mean  that  he  is  out  of  breath."  Out  of  breath?  If 
he  is  out  of  breath,  then  how  can  his  voice  be  breathy? 
Have  we  not  found  that  breathiness  means  that  the  speaker 
has  more  breath  than  he  can  vocalize?  A  momentary  ex- 
amination shows  us  that  this  expression  "out  of  breath" 
is  out  of  place  in  such  cases.  This  person  is  rapidly  in- 
haling and  exhaling  great  draughts  of  breath.  We 


BREATHINESS  IN  THE  VOICE  443 

might  as  well  say  of  a  man  who  is  making  and  spending 
ten  thousand  a  dollars  a  day,  that  he  is  out  of  money,  as 
to  say  of  this  messenger  that  he  is  out  of  breath.  This 
man  is  rich  in  breath. 

It  is  not  lack  of  breath  but  lack  of  control  of  breathing. 
While  his  lungs  are  being  rapidly  flooded  with  breath, 
he  retains  little  of  it. 

What  is  the  cause  of  this?  Put  yourself  through  the 
experience  and  you  will  realize  that  this  man  was  so  con- 
cerned about  getting  the  next  breath  that  he  let  each  breath 
go  almost  before  he  had  completed  it,  to  catch  the  next 
one.  In  other  words,  his  sole  conception  was  of  the  next 
step  and  the  energy  it  would  require.  He  had  lost  his 
conception  of  the  great  task  ahead  and  the  strength  that 
must  be  retained  to  make  that  part  of  his  running  stronger 
than  the  first.  This  makes  us  wonder  if  the  breathiness 
of  this  man  is  directly  caused  by  his  violation  of  the  law 
of  endurance  of  voice. 

Now  we  listen  to  the  voice  of  one  who  has  been  ill  for 
weeks.  We  notice  that  his  condition  is,  in  a  sense,  similar 
to  that  of  the  exhausted  person,,  yet  very  different.  The 
careless  person  would  say  of  him  also  that  he  has  no 
breath,  yet  we  discern  that  he  has  much  more  breath  than 
he  can  vocalize,  for  his  voice  is  very  breathy.  The  ex- 
hausted man  was  taking  in  and  breathing  out  great  draughts 
of  breath,  but  this  man's  breaths  are  exceedingly  small. 
How  is  it  that  he  cannot  vocalize  this  small  amount  of 
breath?  As  we  watch  him  more  closely,  we  catch  the  im- 
portant point  that  this  man  lets  each  breath  go,  the  instant 
he  has  received  it,  just  as  the  exhausted  man  did.  He  also 
is  so  concerned  about  getting  the  next  breath,  that  he  retains 


444  PURITY  OF  VOICE 

little  of  the  breath  he  has.  It  would  seem  that  perhaps  the 
breathiness  in  the  voice  of  the  weak  person,  also,  is  directly 
caused  by  his  violation  of  the  law  of  vocal  endurance,  and 
the  consequent  lack  of  dorsal  breathing. 

We  listen  to  the  voice  of  a  man  whose  breathiness  seems 
to  come  from  his  being  too  fat,  and  we  find  the  same 
conditions.  We  find  this  man  letting  each  breath  go  the 
instant  he  has  taken  it.  We  question  him  and  find  that 
he  has  so  much  difficulty  in  taking  a  deep  breath,  that 
he  is  constantly  concerned  about  the  next  breath.  He  also 
seems  unable  to  observe  the  law  of  vocal  endurance,  and 
his  breathiness  seems  to  come  from  his  violation  of  that 
law  and  the  consequent  lack  of  dorsal  breathing. 

You  will  notice  that  in  all  these  cases  of  breathiness 
where  the  speakers  were  in  some  depleted  physical  condi- 
tion, we  said  the  breathiness  seemed  to  come  from  a  viola- 
tion of  the  law  of  vocal  endurance.  When,  through  the 
laryngoscope,  we  examine  the  act  of  vocalizing,  we  find 
that  a  tone  free  from  breathiness  is  made  only  when  the 
vocal  cords  are  held  firmly.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  when 
the  speaker  is  so  vitally  concerned  about  the  next  breath, 
that  he  is  always  relaxing  and  opening  his  throat  to  re- 
ceive that  breath,  the  instant  each  exhalation  starts,  such 
a  speaker  never  holds  his  vocal  cords  firmly.  From  this 
it  is  evident  that  whatever  causes  him  to  be  constantly 
gasping  after  the  next  breath,  causes  his  breathiness.  Since 
we  have  proved  that  the  speaker's  failure  to  observe  the 
law  of  vocal  endurance  causes  this  gasping,  we  may  con- 
sider it  proved  that  it  also  causes  the  breathiness  in  his 
voice. 

We  have  proved  this  point  effectively  in  another  way. 


MOUTHINESS  IN  THE  VOICE  445 

We  have  tested  voices  which  were  breathy  from  one  of  the 
physical  conditions,  and  whenever  we  could  get  such  a 
speaker  to  observe  the  law  of  vocal  endurance  till  he  would 
start  a  good  dorsal  breathing,  the  breathiness  dis- 
appeared. 

A  careful  review  of  what  we  have  said  concerning  this 
impurity  of  the  voice,  will  show  that  there  is  one  basic 
remedy  for  all  forms  of  breathiness, 

The  cure  for  breathiness,  whether  it  seems  to  come 
from  a  mental  or  from  a  physical  source,  is  a  strong, 
active  process  of  faithing,  manifesting  itself  in  the  law 
stated  in  the  chapter  on  Endurance  of  Voice  (see  p. 
421). 


IV.    MOUTHINESS  IN  THE  VOICE 

Mouthiness  includes  all  the  defects  in  the  mouth  action 
which  interfere  with  the  purity,  the  clearness,  and  the  dis- 
tinctness of  the  voice.  The  voice  may  be  free  from  nasality, 
throatiness,  and  breathiness,  and  yet  be  far  from  clearness 
and  distinctness. 

A  careful  examination  of  cases  where  such  a  condition 
as  this  obtained,  has  proved  that  all  impurities  of  the  voice 
not  due  to  nasality,  throatiness,  or  breathiness,  are  caused 
by  some  misuse  of  the  mouth.  The  principal  things  which 
cause  mouthiness  are  things  which  the  mouth  fails  to  do 
rather  than  things  which  it  does.  The  mouth  fails  to 
open  as  much  as  it  should  do  to  effect  its  share  of  the 
resonance;  the  result  is  that  the  tones  are  either  muffled 
or  flat.  The  tongue,  teeth  and  lips  fail  to  act  as  much  or 


446  PURITY  OF  VOICE 

as  freely  as  they  should;  the  result  is  that  the  words  are 
neither  articulated  nor  enunciated  as  they  should  be.  In 
our  study  of  mouthiness,  therefore,  our  attention  is 
directed  to  these  respects  in  which  the  mouth  fails  to  act 
as  it  should  do  to  produce  a  pure  voice. 

What  is  it  that  causes  the  mouth  to  fail  to  open  as  it 
should?  Possibly,  the  cause  is  a  stiffness  in  the  joints  of 
the  jaw;  but  since  there  is  hardly  such  a  case  in  ten  thou- 
sand, and  since,  even  in  such  cases,  the  voice  can  be  greatly 
improved  by  the  right  mental  processes,  it  is  evident  that  we 
should  search  for  the  mental  cause.  We  should  naturally  ex- 
pect to  find  that  the  same  attitude  of  mind  that  causes  the 
throat  not  to  open  as  it  should,  also  causes  the  mouth  not 
to  open  as  it  should.  Let  us  see  if  this  supposition  is  correct. 
Observation  of  the  various  persons  who  speak  with  the 
mouth  half -closed,  shows  us  that  they  are  usually  the  in- 
different or  lazy,  the  bashful  or  timid,  the  sulky  or  sullen,  the 
selfish  or  stingy.  In  each  of  these  characteristics  there  is  a 
decided  lack  of  openness  of  mind  in  the  speaker.  Not  one 
of  these  speakers  han>  a  large  enough  conception  of  the 
things  about  which  he  speaks,  to  cause  him  to  expand  his 
mind  to  receive  large  things.  Not  one  of  them  has  a 
sufficiently  keen  conception  of  the  force  of  the  things  about 
which  he  speaks,  and  the  energy  he  must  have  to  resist  that 
force,  to  cause  him  to  receive  each  thought  as  he  would 
receive  a  great  surprise.  Not  one  of  them  is  sufficiently 
interested  in  those  to  whom  he  speaks,  to  cause  him  to 
conceive  the  large  amount  of  pleasure  or  help  he  can  give 
to  those  persons.  In  other  words,  speakers  who  speak  with 
the  mouth  half-closed  are  neither  open-minded  enough  to 
receive  large  truth,  nor  open-hearted  enough  to  give  out 


MOUTHINESS  IN  THE  VOICE  447 

large  truth  to  others.  The  above  supposition  that  the  same 
mental  cause  which  contracts  the  throat  also  contracts  the 
mouth,  is  proved  to  be  correct.  .  • 

A  speaker  is  before  us  whose  large  conception  of  the 
things  about  which  he  speaks  and  whose  large  conception 
of  the  purpose  for  which  he  speaks,  have  given  him  great  en- 
thusiasm and  a  very  open  throat  and  mouth.  His  tones  are 
large,  round  and  free ;  yet  half  the  words  he  says  are  diffi- 
cult to  understand.  The  author  has  listened  to  so  many 
speakers  who  speak  in  this  manner,  that,  at  times,  it  has 
almost  seemed  the  rule  rather  than  the  exception,  espe- 
cially among  certain  types  of  "self-made"  public  speakers. 
When  we  hear  this  kind  of  speaking,  we  say  the  speaker 
does  not  articulate  well.  What  do  we  mean  by  "articulate"  ? 
In  this  case  it  is  clear  that  we  mean  the  speaker  does  not 
separate  his  words  and  syllables  so  that  each  one  is  distinct. 
When  we  examine  the  means  by  which  we  separate  words 
and  syllables  from  one  another,  we  find  that  this  is  done 
by  the  tongue,  the  teeth,  and  the  lips.  When  we  say  a 
speaker  does  not  articulate  well,  it  is  evident  that  he  is 
not  using  his  tongue,  teeth,  and  lips  as  he  must  do  to  give 
distinct  form  to  his  syllables  and  words.  Since  speakers 
like  the  one  just  cited  are  often  free  from  the  fault  of 
speaking  with  half-closed  mouth,  and  yet  do  not  articulate 
well,  it  is  evident  that  the  action  of  the  mind  that  merely 
opens  the  mouth  is  different  from  the  mental  action  that 
so  moves  the  tongue,  teeth,  and  lips,  as  to  give  clear  articu- 
lation. 

To  ascertain  just  what  the  mental  defect  is,  that  causes 
a  speaker  to  articulate  poorly,  we  have  made  a  vast  number 
of  tests.  These  tests  have  made  it  clear  that: 


44-8  PURITY  OF  VOICE 

Whenever  a  speaker  fails  to  make  his  words  distinct, 
he  does  so  because  he  is  not  forming  distinct  conceptions 
of  the  single  things  about  which  he  speaks. 

He  may  be  conceiving  groups  of  ideas  very  clearly,  but 
he  is  absolutely  failing  to  bring  clearly  before  his  mind 
those  things  for  which  his  poorly  articulated  words  stand. 
His  conception  of  the  sentence  he  is  uttering  may  be  clear 
enough;  but  how  can  he  expect  that  general  conception 
to  make  absolutely  distinct  all  the  single  things  entering 
into  that  sentence? 

We  say,  in  grammatical  terms,  that  a  sentence  may  con- 
tain nouns,  verbs,  adjectives,  adverbs,  prepositions  and  con- 
junctions. When  we  examine  these  words,  we  realize  that 
when  we  speak  a  noun,  we  are  supposed  to  have  before 
the  mind  a  certain  thing;  when  we  speak  a  verb,  we  are 
supposed  to  have  before  the  mind  a  certain  action;  when 
we  speak  an  adjective,  we  should  see  clearly  a  certain 
characteristic  of  a  thing;  when  we  speak  an  adverb,  we 
should  see  clearly  a  certain  characteristic  of  an  action; 
when  we  speak  a  preposition  or  a  conjunction,  we  should 
fully  realize  a  certain  relation  between  things  or  between 
actions  which  are,  that  moment,  before  our  minds.  Re- 
duced to  simple  terms,  this  means  that  every  single  word 
of  a  sentence  should  bring  before  the  mind  of  the  speaker, 
clearly  and  distinctly,  either  a  thing  or  an  action,  or  some 
characteristic  of  a  thing  or  of  an-  action,  or  some  relation 
between  things  or  between  actions. 

Sweet  (Primer  of  Phonetics)  makes  the  helpful  physio- 
logical observation:  "Consonants  are  the  result  of  audible 
friction  or  stopping  of  the  breath  in  some  part  of  the  mouth 


MOUTHINESS   IN   THE   VOICE  449 

or  throat;  ...  the  narrowing  or  stopping  of  the  mouth- 
passage  is  the  foundation  of  the  sound."  The  mental  cause 
of  this  stopping  of  the  outflow  of  the  voice,  is  the  stopping 
of  the  mind  to  conceive  the  single  thing  represented  by  the 
word  that  is  being  spoken.  We  have  all  noticed  how  much 
use  children  make  of  their  mouths  when  telling  of  some- 
thing that  has  greatly  interested  them,  and  how  very  dis- 
tinct their  articulation  often  is  at  such  a  time.  The  mental 
cause  seems  to  be,  that  each  thing,  of  which  the  child 
speaks,  stands  out  so  decidedly  alone  that  the  words  repre- 
senting those  things  stand  equally  alone  and  distinct. 

It  is  clear  that  the  speaker  should  have  a  distinct  image 
of  the  thing  for  which  each  word  in  a  sentence  stands. 

When  a  speaker  gives  his  undivided  attention  to  that 
for  which  the  word  which  he  is  about  to  speak  stands, 
his  mind  runs  a  boundary,  so  to  speak,  around  that  thing 
and  makes  it  stand  out  by  itself,  a  distinct  thing. 

While  the  speaker's  mind  is  doing  this : 

If  the  speaker  has  a  desire  to  cause  the  mind  of  the 
listener  to  see  distinctly  what  he  sees,  then  the  tcngue, 
teeth,  and  lips  of  the  speaker  are  running  a  boundary 
around  the  word  representing  what  the  speaker  sees,  to 
make  that  word  stand  out  by  itself. 

When  a  speaker  does  not  give  definite  enough  attention 
to  that  for  which  a  word  stands,  to  give  it  a  distinct 
"boundary,"  or  when  he  does  not  have  a  strong  desire  to 
cause  the  listener  to  see  the  thing  for  which  the  word 
stands,  as  clearly  as  he  sees  it,  then  the  word  representing 
what  he  should  see  loses  its  "boundary"  and  becomes 


450  PURITY  OF  VOICE 

mingled  in  the  indistinct  sounds  of  other  words  in  the 
sentence. 


THE   RELATION  OF  ARTICULATION   TO   ENUNCIATION 

The  last  form  of  mouthiness  we  have  to  consider  is  poor 
enunciation.  Most  persons  seem  to  regard  articulation  and 
enunciation  as  the  same  thing.  Some  of  the  dictionaries, 
indeed,  call  the  two  words  synonyms.  Careful  investigation, 
however,  proves  that  these  two  acts  are  separate  and  dis- 
tinct. To  articulate,  as  we  have  just  found,  is  to  give 
distinct  form  and  individuality  to  a  word.  To  enunciate 
is  to  send  forth  the  word  when  formed.  This  is  the  mean- 
ing the  Romans,  from  whom  we  took  the  word,  gave  it. 
It  comes  from  the  Latin  "e,"  from,  and  "nuntius,"  a  mes- 
senger. With  the  Romans,  a  word  was  enunciated  when 
it  was  sent  forth  from  the  messenger.  The  word  "enuncia- 
tion" should  have  precisely  this  meaning  with  us. 

The  difference  between  the  two  acts  of  articulating  and 
enunciating  may  be  fairly  illustrated  by  the  minting  of 
coins.  Let  us  imagine  that  we  are  standing  before  a 
peculiar  type  of  machine  that  is  minting  gold  coins.  Let 
us  suppose  that  the  only  means  we  have  of  judging  whether 
those  coins  are  pure,  is  to  listen  to  the  ring  of  each  coin 
as  it  is  tossed  out  from  the  machine.  Let  us  further  sup- 
pose that,  as  we  watch  the  machine  work,  we  see  each 
coin  given  its  distinct  form,  but,  instead  of  being  tossed  out 
from  the  machine,  so  as  to  have  its  distinct  ring,  each  coin 
is  slowly  pushed  out,  and  we  hear  no  ringing  sound.  Under 
these  exact  circumstances,  how  much  would  we  be  im- 
pressed with  the  genuineness  of  the  minted  coins?  They 


RELATION  OF  ARTICULATION  TO  ENUNCIATION      451 

would  impress  us  no  more  than  gilded  lead  coins  would 
do.  The  machine  "articulated"  well  but  it  did  not  "enun- 
ciate." The  parallel  between  this  act  and  the  act  of  form- 
ing and  sending  forth  words,  is  closer  than  we  may  realize. 
The  only  way  the  listener  may  judge  the  value  of  words 
we  utter  in  speaking,  is  to  listen  to  their  ring  as  they  are 
tossed  forth  from  the  mouth.  Speakers  are  often  heard 
who  articulate  well,  but  who  do  not  send  forth  their  words 
in  such  a  way  as  to  let  them  ring  with  their  true  value. 
The  result  is  likely  to  be  that  the  listener  will  take  them 
for  "lead,"  even  though  the  speaker  has  put  "gold"  into 
them. 

If  we  investigate  the  action  of  the  mouth  when  good 
enunciation  is  taking  place,  we  see  that  the  tongue,  teeth, 
and  lips  seem  to  be  trying  to  jump  quickly  out  of  the  way 
and  let  the  new  word  spring  forth  in  its  own  vigor.  Clearly 
the  mental  cause  for  such  action  of  the  mouth  (when  it  is 
involuntary,  as  it  always  should  be)  is  a  distinct  concep- 
tion, in  the  speaker's  mind,  of  the  clear  ring  each  word 
must  have,  if  it  strikes  the  ear  of  the  listener  with  its 
true  worth,  and  an  earnest  desire,  on  the  speaker's  part, 
to  have  each  word  do  this.  Professor  Huey  (Psychology 
and  Pedagogy  of  Reading,  p.  139)  makes  an  interesting 
comparison  of  the  various  acts  concerned  in  reading  or 
speaking,  with  the  several  acts  of  a  base-ball  pitcher  in  de- 
livering the  ball.  He  says  that,  just  as  the  several  acts  of 
throwing  the  ball,  namely,  grasping  the  ball  in  a  definite 
way,  raising  and  poising  the  arm,  and  the  final  complicated 
act  of  throwing,  are  all  controlled  by  the  meaning  of  the 
total.  Accordingly : 

The  many  acts  which  make  up  the   speaking  of  a 


452  PURITY  OF  VOICE 

sentence  are  all  controlled  by  the  thought  of  what  you 
mean  to  make  that  sentence  do  to  the  listener.  To 
enunciate  well,  the  speaker  must  t-ecognize  the  worth  of 
his  subject  and  of  each  word  in  his  subject,  and  must 
also  recognize  the  life  with  which  each  word  must  go 
forth  to  give  the  hearer  a  lively  interest  in  his  subject. 


THE  FUNDAMENTAL  NEED   IN  ALL   EFFORTS  TO 
SECURE   VOCAL   PURITY 

Let  us  notice  for  a  moment  an  observation  made  in  the 
second  paragraph  above.  We  found  that,  in  enunciation, 
each  word  must  spring  forth  with  a  snap  of  vigor;  but  we 
found  also,  that  the  only  thing  the  organs  of  enunciation 
seem  to  do,  is  to  jump  out  of  the  way  and  let  the  vigorous 
word  go.  This  suggests  that,  when  enunciation  is  good,  it  is 
good  because  the  breath  of  the  speaker  is  so  full  of  the 
life  of  each  word,  that  it  only  needs  to  be  let  go.  This 
means  that,  even  in  enunciation,  the  principal  effort  of  the 
speaker  must  not  be  to  send  out  but  to  take  in  the  breath. 

This  thought  causes  us  to  realize  that  for  all  four  of 
the  vocal  impurities  there  is  one,  common,  fundamental 
help. 

Whether  we  wish  to  remove  nasality,  or  throatiness, 
or  breathiness,  or  mouthiness,  the  fundamental  physical 
need  is,  to  have  the  lungs  packed  with  breath.  The 
fundamental  mental  need  is,  for  such  a  vigorous  concep- 
tion of  every  thing  spoken  of,  that  the  throat  and  lungs 
are  thrown  open  so  that  the  lungs  quickly  and  involun- 
tarily fill  themselves,  .according  to  the  laws  of  Size, 


PRACTICE  IN  SPEAKING  ON  PURITY  OF  VOICE   453 

Strength,  and  Endurance  of  Voice,  found  in  the  chapter 
on  Size  of  Voice,  pp.  385,  386,  389-390;  the  chapter  on 
Strength  of  Voice,  pp.  404,  405,  409;  the  chapter  on  En- 
durance of  Voice,  p.  421. 

Dr.  Hartwell,  director  of  physical  training  in  the  schools 
of  Boston,  finds  that  successful  cure  for  stuttering  begins 
in  gymnastic  exercises  for  the  breathing  muscles,  and  that 
this  must  be  followed  by  the  development  of  "phonation," 
and  after  this  articulation.  Expressed  in  the  terms  we 
have  used  in  discussing  the  development  of  the  voice,  this 
means  that  this  fault  of  voice,  stuttering,  can  be  removed 
best  by  first  developing  Size  and  Strength  of  Voice  and  then 
by  developing  Purity  of  Voice.  The  same  is  true  of  prac- 
tically all  vocal  faults. 


Practice  in  Speaking  on  Purity  of  Voice 

Since  there  are  four  distinct  phases  of  vocal  purity, 
namely,  freedom  from  nasality,  freedom  from  throatiness, 
freedom  from  mouthiness,  and  freedom  from  breathiness, 
this  subject  is,  at  first,  somewhat  more  complicated  than 
some  of  the  other  subjects  we  have  discussed.  For  this 
reason,  it  is  all  the  more  desirable  that  the  intending  speaker 
prepare  to  discuss  the  various  phases  of  the  chapter  and 
that  he  practice  speaking  on  them  until  he  can  make  them 
clear  and  interesting  to  others. 

To  do  this,  make  a  careful  outline  of  the  chapter,  and, 
from  this  outline,  prepare  to  make  a  separate  speech  on 
each  phase  of  the  chapter  and  also  to  discuss  it  as  a  whole. 
Weave  into  your  talks  as  much  of  your  own  experiences 


454  PURITY  OF  VOICE 

as  possible  and  apply  the  laws  laid  down,  to  your  own 
vocal  needs. 


Experiments  to  Develop  Vocal  Purity 

We  have  found,  in  the  fourth  paragraph  above,  that  there 
is  one  fundamental  need  in  the  speaker's  efforts  to  remove 
any  of  the  four  vocal  impurities,  nasality,  throatiness, 
mouthiness,  or  breathiness;  yet  experience  has  proved  that 
it  is  difficult  for  the  student  of  speech  to  remove  all  his  im- 
purities of  voice  at  one  stroke.  To  think  on  such  large 
and  free  and  open  ideas,  that  the  mouth  and  throat  and 
lungs  are  all  thrown  open,  relieves  the  voice  from  nasality, 
mouthiness,  and  throatiness;  but  the  beginner  sometimes 
finds  that  such  thoughts  tend  to  increase  his  breathiness. 
This,  as  we  found  in  the  chapter  on  Size  of  Voice,  is  a 
psychological  result,  for,  when  the  mind  contemplates  any- 
thing with  which  it  does  not  feel  able  to  cope,  the  help- 
lessness of  the  speaker  relaxes  his  throat,  and  breathiness 
is  the  result. 

For  these  reasons,  we  have  found  it  advisable,  first  to 
perform  those  experiments  which  so  open  the  mouth,  throat, 
and  lungs,  that  they  remove  all  the  impurities  except 
breathiness;  and  then  to  experiment  for  the  removal  of 
breathiness.  The  following  experiments  are  so  arranged. 

I.  First  experiment  in  presenting  the  following  perora- 
tion to  the  famous  Columbian  Oration,  by  Chauncey  Depew: 

"All  hail,  Columbus,  discoverer,  dreamer,  hero,  and  apostle? 
We,  here,  of  every  race  and  country,  recognize  the  horizon 
which  bounded  his  vision  and  the  infinite  scope  of  his  genius. 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  VOCAL  PURITY  455 

The  voice  of  gratitude  and  praise  for  all  the  blessings  which 
have  been  showered  upon  mankind  by  his  adventure,  is  limited 
to  no  language,  but  is  uttered  in  every  tongue.  Neither  marble 
nor  brass  can  fitly  form  his  statue.  Continents  are  his  monu- 
ments, and  unnumbered  millions,  past,  present,  and  to  come, 
who  enjoy,  in  their  liberties  and  their  happiness,  the  fruits  of 
his  faith,  will  reverently  guard  and  preserve,  from  century, 
to  century,  his  name  and  fame." 


In  this  short  speech,  let  your  constant  effort  be,  to  con- 
ceive the  almost  immeasurable  size  of  the  things  spoken 
of,  so  quickly,  that  you  must  instantly  expand  your  mind 
to  its  fullest  extent,  to  encompass  each  thing  thought  of. 
To  cause  the  listener  to  conceive  these  vast  things,  you 
must  take  in  great  breaths  proportionate  to  their  size.  To 
cause  the  listener  to  conceive  the  power  and  endurance  of 
these  things,  you  must  contemplate  the  strength  and  en- 
durance you  need,  to  cope  with  such  thoughts,  till  your 
great  reserve  of  breath  fills  your  voice  with  power  and 
endurance.  If  you  would  have  each  word  ring  out  with 
its  true  worth,  in  clear  articulation  and  enunciation,  it  can 
do  so  only  when  your  conception  of  the  thing  for  which 
that  word  stands,  is  so  clear  and  so  full,  that  your  mouth 
only  has  to  jump  out  of  the  way,  so  to  speak,  and  let  that 
word  spring  forth. 

2.  For  the  second  experiment,  treat,  as  in  experiment  I, 
the  following  selections:  "An  Apostrophe  to  the  Ocean," 
by  Byron ;  the  last  part  of  "The  Building  of  the  Ship,"  by 
Longfellow;  and  the  last  two  stanzas  of  "The  Chambered 
Nautilus,"  by  Holmes. 

When  the  above  experiments  have  been  repeated  until 
it  has  begun  to  be  a  habit  for  you  to  speak  with  an  open- 
ness and  freedom  of  your  whole  vocal  apparatus,  you  are 


456  PURITY  OF  VOICE 

then  ready  to  perform  such  experiments  as  require  a  firmer, 
smaller  and  more  compact  use  of  the  voice.  Experiments 
of  this  nature  will  enable  you  to  remove  the  breathiness 
that  may  have  remained  in  your  voice  through  the  fore- 
going tests.  For  this  purpose,  we  submit  the  experiments 
below. 

3.  Perform  the  experiment  of  reading  selections  from 
literature  which  require  the  mind  to  form  clear  and  definite 
pictures,  and  also  call  for  vigorous  and  precise  action.  In 
each  selection  used  for  this  experiment,  there  should  be 
open  good  cheer  and  all  the  conceptions  should  come  in 
such  quick  and  vigorous  fashion,  that  the  speaker,  to  re- 
ceive them,  throws  his  mind  open  as  much  as  if  they  were 
much  larger  things  conceived. 

For  this  experiment,  we  suggest  that  you  first  use  the 
selection,  Blossom  Time,  given  on  page  356.  When  you 
have  mastered  all  your  vocal  impurities  in  this  poem,  next 
use  the  following  lines,  Boot  and  Saddle,  by  Browning : 


"Boot,  saddle,  to  horse,  and  away !  Rescue  my  castle  before 
the  hot  day  brightens  to  blue  from  its  silvery  gray.  Boot, 
saddle,  to  horse,  and  away !  Ride  past  the  suburbs,  asleep 
as  you'd  say;  many's  the  friend  there,  will  listen  and  pray 
'God's  luck  to  the  gallants  that  strike  up  the  lay — "Boot,  saddle, 
to  horse,  and  away !" '  Forty  miles  off,  like  a  roebuck  at  bay, 
flouts  Castle  Brancepeth  the  Roundheads'  array:  who  laughs, 
"Good  fellows  ere  this,  by  my  fay,  boot,  saddle,  to  horse,  and 
away!"  Who?  My  wife,  Gertrude,  that,  honest  and  gay, 
laughs  when  you  talk  of  surrendering,  "Nay !  I've  better  coun- 
sellors ;  what  counsel  they  ?  'Boot,  saddle,  to  horse,  and  away  !'  " 


A  Legend  of  Bregenz,  by  Adelaide  Proctor;  How  They 
Brought  the  Good  News  from  Ghent  to  Aix,  by  Browning, 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  VOCAL  PURITY   457 

and  Paul  Revere' s  Ride,  by  Longfellow,  are  all  good  mate- 
rial for  developing  purity  of  voice. 

When  you  have  thoroughly  experimented  to  develop 
purity  of  voice  through  the  use  of  the  above  selections, 
you  will  find  it  invaluable  to  find  a  connecting  link  between 
this  interpretative  work  and  the  work  you  will  do  in  original 
speaking.  You  will  also  profit  by  combining  the  two  kinds 
of  experiments  we  have  just  been  performing,  namely, 
those  for  throwing  the  whole  vocal  apparatus  so  open  as 
to  remove  nasality,  throatiness,  and  mouthiness;  and  those 
experiments  which  require  so  firm  and  exact  a  use  of  the 
vocal  apparatus  as  to  remove  breathiness. 

To  accomplish  these  ends: 

4.  Perform  the  following  experiment:  Form  ten  sen- 
tences each  one  of  which  causes  the  mind  to  open  wide  to 
conceive  the  things  spoken  of,  and,  hence,  causes  the  mind 
spontaneously  to  open  the  throat  and  mouth  wide  to  say 
these  things.  Let  each  sentence  contain  some  action  so 
vigorous  that  you  cannot  conceive  it  without  observing  the 
laws  of  strength  and  endurance,  and,  hence,  filling  the 
lungs  quickly  and  full.  Let  the  action  also  be  quick,  that 
the  mind  may  conceive  it  with  keenness  and  distinctness, 
and,  hence,  cause  the  articulation  to  be  keen  and  distinct. 
We  suggest  the  use  of  such  verbs  as  to  catch,  to  cut,  to 
flash,  to  glisten,  to  dash,  to  break,  to  tear,  to  strike,  to 
crush,  to  conquer. 

When  the  sentences  have  been  formed,  experiment  with 
each  of  them  many  times,  to  discover  how  much  more 
quickly  you  can  conceive  the  exact  nature,  the  exact  size, 
the  exact  shape,  and  the  exact  strength  of  everything  spoken 
of,  each  time  you  speak  the  sentence.  Try  each  time  to 


458  PURITY  OF  VOICE 

have  a  livelier  interest  in  those  to  whom  you  speak,  a 
kindlier  disposition  toward  them,  and  a  stronger  desire  to 
make  each  thing  you  say  so  distinct  that  your  hearers  can- 
not fail  to  realize  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

PAUSE 
One  of  the  Modes  of  Emphasis 

THERE  are  seven  fundamental  modes  of  emphasis — seven 
basic  acts  of  voice  which  cause  certain  parts  of  a  speech 
to  stand  out  in  prominence.  These  are:  Pause,  Change 
of  Pitch,  Inflection,  Subordination,  Vocal  Movement,  Tone- 
texture  and  Touch.  A  separate  chapter  will  be  devoted  to 
each  of  these  modes. 


PAUSES  IN  READING,  SPEAKING,  AND  CONVERSATION 

To  hear  the  same  person  converse  and  then  to  hear  him 
make  a  speech  or  read,  often  seems  like  hearing  different 
individuals,  so  unlike  are  the  respective  modes  of  emphasis. 
One  of  the  prominent  points  of  difference  between  reading 
and  conversation,  and  between  speaking  and  conversation, 
is  that  of  the  pause.  In  conversation,  pauses  are  much 
more  numerous,  much  more  free,  and  come,  almost  always, 
at  the  right  places.  In  reading,  and  often  in  speaking,  the 
pauses  are  apt  to  come  in  a  haphazard,  monotonous, 
mechanical  way.  They  are  often  omitted  when  needed  and 
used  when  not  needed. 

459 


460  PAUSE 

To  improve  this  mode  of  emphasis,  the  Pause,  in  oui 
reading  and  speaking,  we  must  seek  out  the  sources  of 
pausing  and  then  develop  those  sources. 


THE   PRIMARY   SOURCE   OF   THE   PAUSE 

Careful  observation  of  the  various  places  where  the 
mind  pauses  in  conversation,  has  disclosed  the  fact  that  the 
primary  source  of  a  pause  is  the  effort  of  the  mind  to 
re-fill  itself.  The  process  of  filling  and  emptying  is  con- 
stantly going  on.  When  the  attention  is  turned  to  any 
object  of  thought,  sensations  from  that  thing  rush  in  to 
fill  the  mind.  If  the  person  is  speaking  at  the  time,  as 
soon  as  the  mind  is  replenished,  it  pours  out  its  contents 
to  the  listener.  A  little  time  is  then  required  to  fill  the 
mind  again.  We  observe  that  this  filling  time  occurs  in 
conversation,  not  only  when  a  new  thing  is  thought  about, 
but  also  whenever  the  smallest  new  conception  is  formed 
of  the  thing  already  spoken  of.  Sometimes  a  whole 
sentence  has  been  uttered,  sometimes,  only  a  clause,  a 
phrase,  or  a  single  word,  when  the  pause  occurs.  But, 
whenever  or  wherever  it  occurs,  if  it  is  a  natural  and 
effective  pause,  the  voice  bears  evidence,  in  the  words 
spoken  immediately  afterward,  that  the  mind  has  been  re- 
filled by  a  new  conception. 

Professor  Stout  (Analytical  Psych.,  Chap,  on  Implicit 
Apprehension)  makes  use  of  the  fact  propounded  by  the 
early  English  and  Scotch  philosophers:  "A  flow  of  words 
is,  for  the  most  part,  unattended  by  a  parallel  flow  of 
mental  imagery."  This  is  the  vital  point.  If  a  speaker 


SECONDARY  SOURCE  OF  PAUSING  461 

does  not  pause  long  enough  before  each  new  thought  about 
to  be  spoken,  to  let  himself  receive  real  and  live  sense- 
impressions,  through  his  imaginative  senses,  from  the  thing 
concerning  which  he  is  about  to  speak,  he  cannot  hope  that 
that  thing  will  be  very  emphatic  either  to  himself  or  to  the 
listener. 


THE  SECONDARY  SOURCE  OF  PAUSING 

Another  fact  to  be  observed  in  conversation  is,  that  the 
speaker's  mind  soon  begins  to  pay  attention,  not  only  to 
the  thing  thought  about  and  talked  about,  but  also  to  the 
mind  of  the  listener.  This  attention  to  the  listening  mind 
often  becomes  the  source  of  a  pause.  The  mind  of  the 
speaker  has  formed  a  strong  and  satisfying  conception. 
The  voice  has  carried  this  conception  to  the  mind  of  the 
listener.  The  mind  of  the  speaker  then  stops  and  turns 
to  the  listener  to  note  whether  he  has  caught  the  con- 
ception. While  it  watches  the  listener,  it  holds  before  him, 
in  silence,  the  conception  just  delivered  and  thinks  on  this 
conception  so  intently  that  it  forces  the  conception,  as  it 
were,  into  the  listener's  mind. 

This  kind  of  pause  is  more  directly  emphatic  than  the 
pause  that  is  employed  to  refill  the  speaker's  own  mind — 
more  emphatic  both  physically  and  psychically.  Physically, 
it  emphasizes  by  breaking  up  the  monotonous  continuity 
of  the  voice.  If  one  stand  watching  a  freight-train  go  by, 
and  see  twenty  box-cars,  one  after  another,  the  scene  be- 
comes monotonous.  No  emphasis!  But  if  a  few  box- 
cars come,  and  pass,  then  a  flat-car  or  two,  and,  after 


462  PAUSE 

these,  more  box-cars,  both  kinds  of  cars  are  emphasized 
in  eye  and  mind.  So,  on  the  ear  of  the  listener,  when  the 
speaker  pauses,  the  last  vocal  utterance  of  the  speaker  is 
emphasized  by  the  physical  change,  the  vocal  break,  even 
if  there  by  no  psychic  change  in  the  speaker's  mind. 

The  psychic  emphasis  is  even  stronger  than  the  physical. 
Consider  again  the  thought  quoted  above :  "A  flow  of  words 
is,  for  the  most  part,  unattended  by  a  parallel  flow  of 
mental  imagery."  This  was  said,  of  course,  concerning 
the  person  from  whom  the  flow  of  words  issues;  but,  if 
it  is  true  of  the  one  who  speaks,  how  much  more  true  is 
it  of  the  one  who  listens!  If  the  speaker  who  has,  pre- 
sumably, thought  out  his  subject  beforehand,  requires  time 
to  form  his  "mental  imagery,"  how  can  the  listener,  who 
has  not  prepared  the  subject,  form  his  mental  images  if 
the  speaker  gives  him  no  time. 

This  is  the  main  reason  why  a  mere  flow  of  words 
so  palls  upon  the  mind  of  the  listener  and  finally  tires 
him  out;  for  he  can  be  kept  refreshed  only  by  fresh 
sense-impressions  from  concrete  things. 

Thus  it  is  clear  that  the  secondary  use  of  the  pause,  this 
stopping  to  think  over  the  thing  just  spoken,  imparts  to  it 
its  due  prominence  and,  thereby,  becomes  an  effective  mode 
of  emphasis. 


DISTINCTION  BETWEEN  PAUSE  AND  HESITATION 

The  mind  is  more  active  during  the  pause  than  at  any 
other  time.  If  we  make  the  primary  use  of  the  pause — 
to  refill  the  mind — the  activity  of  the  mind  must  be  greater 


PAUSE  AND  HESITATION  463 

during  this  time  of  filling  than  when  it  merely  lets  go  or 
speaks  out  what  it  has  collected.  The  action  here  may  be 
illustrated  by  the  act  of  loading  and  firing  a  spring-gun. 
I  take  the  gun  in  my  hands  and  find  the  spring  sprung. 
It  requires  quite  an  effort  to  compress  that  spring  back  to 
the  firing  point.  But,  when  it  is  set,  little  effort  is  re- 
quired to  touch  the  trigger  that  sets  that  compressed  force 
free  and  fires  the  gun.  So,  when  the  mind  is  "loading" 
itself  is  the  time  of  intense  action.  If  we  make  the  sec- 
ondary use  of  the  pause,  to  re-think  the  thought  just 
spoken,  the  mind  must  be  active  enough  to  make  that 
thought  stronger,  or  the  pause  is  useless.  To  make  the  same 
thought  stronger,  certainly  requires  that  the  mind  think 
harder  on  that  thought  than  if  did  before.  The  pause  that 
is  worthy  of  the  name,  shows  the  mind  in  its  most  active 
state. 

Sometimes  we  note  that  a  speaker  stops  when  his  mind 
seems  to  be  doing  no  thinking  whatever.  At  other  times, 
though  his  mind  seems  to  be  thinking  during  the  interval 
of  silence,  it  is  evident  that  it  has  wandered  away  from 
the  subject.  These  observations  would  suggest  that  there 
are  two  kinds  of  pauses,  the  good  and  the  bad.  The  one, 
we  call  pause;  the  other,  hesitation.  The  difference  be- 
tween a  pause  and  a  hesitation,  then,  is  that: 

In  a  pause  the  mind  is  immediately  receiving  a  new 
impression  from  the  thing  talked  about  (either  the  thing 
just  spoken  of  or  the  thing  about  to  be  spoken  of),  but 
in  a  hesitation  the  mind  loses  connection  with  the  thing 
talked  about. 

This  connection  may  be  lost  in  any  one  of  several  ways. 
The  mind  may  indolently  stop  to  rest.  It  may  wander 


464  PAUSE 

away  to  some  kindred  thought  that  is  not  closely  enough 
connected  with  the  main  subject  to  be  made  a  part  of  the 
discourse.  The  subject  may  have  been  so  poorly  pre- 
pared that  the  speaker  has  to  stop  because  the  right  word 
does  not  come  to  him.  In  any  event,  the  hesitation  is  a 
dissipated  pause.  The  mind  is  not  acting  quickly  enough. 
There  is  a  lack  of  concentration.  A  pause  may  become 
a  hesitation  if  the  imagination  and  the  attention  become 
lax  and  careless.  On  the  other  hand: 

Hesitation  may  always  be  transformed  into  a  pause 
by  quickening  the  mind,  stimulating  the  imaginative 
senses  to  keener  activity,  and  holding  the  attention  more 
firmly  on  the  thing  talked  about. 

Sometimes  most  remarkable  effects  on  an  audience  are 
accomplished  through  the  act  of  transforming  a  hesitation 
into  a  pause.  The  author  saw  one  instance  of  this  kind 
in  an  oratorical  contest.  One  of  the  contestants  was  de- 
livering his  oration  in  a  commanding  manner  when  he 
suddenly  forgot.  Fortunately  for  him,  he  had  learned  how 
to  change  a  hesitation  to  a  pause.  The  instant  the  next 
word  to  be  spoken  escaped  him,  he  fixed  his  mind  in- 
tently on  the  thing  he  had  just  said.  As  he  did  so,  he 
fixed  his  eyes  upon  a  certain  part  of  the  audience,  and, 
walking  slowly  and  deliberately  toward  those  on  whom  his 
eyes  were  fastened;  he  raised  his  hand  as  if  about  to  give 
strong  emphasis  to  the  next  thought.  The  audience,  of 
course,  was  startled  by  the  sudden  pantomime.  Then  fol- 
lowed one  of  the  most  impressive  moments  the  author  has 
ever  witnessed  in  speaking,  everyone  sitting  breathless, 
thinking  with  the  speaker  the  last  thought  he  had  uttered. 
Presently  down  came  the  uplifted  hand  and  out  came  the 


RULES  ONLY  DETRIMENTAL  465 

next  thought  with  far  greater  force  and  effect  than  any 
other  thought  had  had.  The  contestant's  mastery  of  him- 
self in  that  moment  won  the  esteem  of  the  audience  and 
the  decision  of  the  judges.  The  present  writer,  who  knew 
the  speaker's  mind  well  and  knew  that  he  had  forgotten  for 
the  moment,  was  much  amused  to  hear  the  judges  go 
down  the  street  after  the  contest,  debating  warmly  whether 
this  contestant  had  forgotten  at  all.  He  had  changed  a 
hesitation  into  a  pause. 


RULES   ONLY  DETRIMENTAL 

Most  of  the  books  on  the  subject  of  public  speaking  give 
some  attention  to  the  pause.  Almost  every  author,  how- 
ever, considers  the  pause  as  something  that  can  be  planned 
and  fixed  beforehand.  Authors  have  discovered  that  there 
are  certain  places  in  a  sentence  where  pauses  almost  always 
occur.  They  have  carefully  noted  these  places,  classified 
them,  and  then  have  written  them  down  as  places  where 
pauses  must  be-  made. 

This  has  given  rise  to  an  elaborate  set  of  rules  for  paus- 
ing. We  are  told  that  we  must  pause  before  prepositional 
phrases,  before  infinitive  phrases,  before  co-ordinate  and 
subordinate  clauses,  before  modifiers  following  the  words 
they  modify,  before  and  after  very  emphatic  words  and 
words  of  a  series  reaching  a  climax,  etc.,  etc.  Some  of 
us  remember  those  precious  rules  with  which  our  minds 
were  stuffed  in  the  public  schools — that  we  should  pause 
long  enough  to  count  one  at  a  comma,  two  at  a  semicolon, 
three  at  a  colon,  and  four  at  a  period. 


466  PAUSE 

Now  all  such  arbitrary  rules  are  fatal  to  good  thinking. 
In  the  first  place,  the  mind  cannot  give  direct  attention  to 
more  than  one  thing  at  once.  If  we  learn  a  rule  that  tells 
us  that  a  pause  must  occur  at  a  certain  place,  we  try  to 
give  our  attention  to  the  rule  itself  and  also  to  the 
mechanical  structure  of  the  sentence,  to  find  out  where 
the  rule  applies.  Then,  since  we  are  already  trying  to 
think  of  two  things  when  the  mind  is  capable  of  giving  its 
attention  to  one  only,  what  possible  attention  have  we  left 
for  the  subject  discussed?  Obviously,  no  attention  worthy 
the  name ! 

In  the  second  place,  even  if  the  mind  might  master  these 
rules  and  come  to  use  them  in  such  a  manner  as.  to  leave 
the  mind  free  to  think  about  the  things  discussed,  the  rules 
themselves  are  bad.  From  hundreds  of  observations  made 
when  minds  were  acting  in  a  free,  natural,  unconscious 
way,  we  conclude  that  though  the  mind  may  pause  at 
places  indicated  by  the  rules — often  does  so  pause — this 
fact  is  merely  coincidental.  That  there  is  a  certain  part 
of  a  sentence  at  that  particular  point,  is  in  no  wise  the 
cause  of  the  pause.  Both  the  structure  of  the  sentence 
and  the  pause  arise  from  the  process  of  thinking.  Some- 
times the  thinking  causes  the  pause  without  causing  a 
change  in  the  sentence  structure.  Again  we  find  that  the 
thinking  develops  a  new  phase  of  sentence  without  causing 
the  pause.  This  certainly  proves  that  the  rules  built  on 
the  structure  of  the  sentence  cannot  be  a  safe  guide  in  our 
efforts  to  produce  natural  and  effective  pauses.  We  must 
turn  our  attention  to  the  process  of  thought,  and  must 
develop  this  in  some  such  manner  as  outlined  above. 


HOW  PAUSES  VARY  467 


HOW  PAUSES  VARY 

A  speaker  is  apt  to  feel  that  if,  to  develop  his  own  process 
of  pausing,  it  is  necessary  only  that  he  think  correctly, 
then,  when  a  speech  is  once  well  prepared  and  the  process 
of  thought  well  established,  the  pauses  will  take  care  of 
themselves?  Is  this  so?  Do  we  always  think  as  clearly 
at  one  time  as  at  another?  Do  we  always  think  as  rapidly 
at  one  time  as  at  another?  And  is  the  thinking  done  by 
the  audience  to  have  no  influence  on  one's  pausing?  The 
folly  of  this  conclusion  is  easily  to  be  seen.  We  cannot 
"cut  and  dry"  our  pausing.  We  must  continue  to  think 
our  subject,  to  think  it  hard,  and  to  think  the  audience 
into  it,  as  a  very  part  of  it. 

We  must  not  only  think  hard  before  the  audience,  we 
must  think  the  subject  as  if  we  had  never  thought  it  be- 
fore. This  is  necessary  not  only  for  our  own  best  con- 
dition as  speakers,  it  is  also  a  duty  of  courtesy  we  owe  to 
the  audience.  Someone  has  well  said:  "An  audience  is 
always  an  extemporaneous  thinker  on  the  subject  presented 
if  the  subject  is  worth  the  hearing."  This  is  an  important 
truth.  If  the  speaker  has  something  worth  the  time  of 
the  audience,  it  means  that  he  has  thought  it  out  and  that 
the  audience  has  not.  Then,  to  be  fair  and  courteous  to 
that  audience,  is  it  not  clear  that  the  speaker  should 
"re-build  from  the  ground  up"  his  entire  subject?  How 
else  shall  the  listeners  have  time  and  opportunity  to  think 
the  subject  with  him,  which  they  certainly  must  do  if  they 
are  to  have  any  lasting  good  from  his  efforts. 

Two  things  more  govern  the  length  and  frequency  of  the 


468  PAUSE 

pauses  a  speaker  should  use.  These  are,  the  nature  of  the 
subject  and  the  nature  of  the  audience.  The  more  com- 
plicated the  subject,  the  greater  should  be  the  length  and 
the  number  of  pauses  used  in  presenting  that  subject  to 
others.  It  surely  requires  no  proof  to  establish  the  fact 
that  if  one  read  lines  from  Mother  Goose,  the  audience 
can  follow  him  much  more  rapidly  than  they  can  if  he  read 
some  of  Browning's  deepest  thoughts.  So  in  speaking 
his  own  words,  if  the  speaker  has  previously  put  much 
thought  into  few  sentences,  it  required  many  long  pauses 
to  accomplish  that  condensation  of  the  ideas.  Shall  it  not, 
then,  require  many  and  long  pauses  for  the  audience,  less 
familiar  with  the  subject,  to  condense  those  same  ideas? 

The  nature  of  the  audience  often  controls  the  pausing 
of  the  speaker  more  than  does  the  nature  of  the  subject. 
Three  aspects  enter  into  this  "nature  of  the  audience" :  the 
structure  and  size  of  the  auditorium,  the  size  of  the  audi- 
ence in  proportion  to  the  auditorium,  and  the  mental  state 
of  the  listeners.  If  a  speaker  steps  upon  a  platform  and  sees 
before  him  a  large  room  with  the  back  wall  far  from  him 
and  the  ceiling  very  high,  he  will  soon  discover  that  he 
must  pause  longer  and  more  frequently  than  he  would 
have  to  in  a  smaller  room.  The  reason  is  a  physical  one. 
The  sound-waves  are  larger  and  require  a  larger  interval 
between  them.  If  few  and  short  pauses  are  used,  the  large 
volume  of  air  is  not  set  so  actively  in  motion  as  to  carry 
the  sound  to  the  farthest  listener. 

The  author  one  day  saw  this  point  well  illustrated  by  two 
persons  in  the  water.  They  were  in  a  large  swimming- 
tank.  Each  one  was  trying  to  set  the  water  in  motion  by 
jumping  up  and  down  in  it.  One  was  a  nervous  little 


HOW  PAUSES  VARY  469 

fellow  who  came  down  almost  before  he  had  jumped  up. 
The  result  was  that  he  set  but  a  small  part  of  the  water 
near  him  into  a  choppy  motion  that  had  little  effect  on 
the  entire  tank.  The  other  man  was  big  and  fat  and 
moved  with  a  large  slow  movement  up  and  down.  There 
was  quite  a  pause  between  the  time  he  rose  above  the 
water  and  the  time  he  struck  it  again.  He  soon  not  only 
had  the  entire  tankful  of  water  in  motion  but  was  splashing 
the  waves  far  outside.  Decided  echo  in  an  auditorium  calls 
for  the  same  treatment.  Echo  and  reverberation  are  made 
up  of  small,  choppy  waves  of  sound  that  are  reflected  from 
various  hard  surfaces  in  the  room.  If  the  speaker  speak 
so  rapidly  that  the  sound-waves  he  sends  forth  are  of 
about  the  same  size  as  the  reflected  waves,  there  is  only 
a  confusion  of  sounds.  But  if  he  pause  long  enough  and 
speak  with  sufficient  distinctness  and  size  of  voice,  the  large 
sound-waves  he  projects  will  drown  out  the  smaller  waves 
of  echo. 

If  a  small  audience  sits  far  back  in  a  large  auditorium 
with  many  vacant  seats  between  audience  and  speaker,  there 
is  both  a  physical  and  a  psychic  demand  for  longer  and 
more  intense  pauses.  These  vacant  seats  reflect  many  small 
sound-waves  which  interfere  with  the  progress  of  the 
speaker's  voice.  He  must  create  waves  of  sufficient  size 
and  with  large  enough  intervals  of  silence,  to  overcome 
these  small  waves.  But  more  than  this,  the  mind  of  the 
audience  is  affected  by  this  gulf  between  speaker  and 
listener.  The  audience  at  once  feels  itself  cut  off  from  the 
speaker  and  settles  back  into  a  state  of  indifference  which 
the  speaker  must  overcome.  This  he  can  do  only  by  paus- 
ing to  think  over  again  with  them  every  important  thought 


470  PAUSE 

as  soon  as  he  has  spoken  it,  and  by  pausing  to  fill  his 
mind  intensely  full  of  every  important  thought  he  is  about 
to  utter. 

Lastly,  the  mental  state  of  the  audience  should  control 
the  speaker's  pausing.  If  the  minds  of  the  listeners  are 
evidently  poorly  trained  in  rapid  thinking,  then  the  speaker's 
duty  is  to  help  them  think.  This  he  can  do  only  by  frequent 
and  intense  pauses.  If  the  speaker  find  before  him  a  well- 
educated  audience,  he  should  quickly  discover  whether  his 
listeners  wish  primarily  to  be  entertained  or  whether  they 
wish  to  do  their  own  thinking.  If  entertainment  be  their 
first  desire,  the  pauses  must  be  shorter  but  even  more 
vigorous  than  for  "judicial"  minds.  At  all  events: 

The  pause  is,  first,  the  speaker's  opportunity  to  dis- 
cover whether  he  is  reaching  his  audience  and  accom- 
plishing his  purpose,  and,  secondly,  the  pause  becomes 
his  first  effective  means  for  accomplishing  that  purpose. 

Practice  in  Speaking  on  Pause 

Outline  the  discussion  on  Pause,  put  into  this  outline 
illustrations  from  your  own  experience  and  observation  in 
the  use  of  the  pause,  and,  from  your  outline,  speak  ex- 
tempore on  the  various  divisions  of  the  subject,  and  also 
on  the  whole  chapter.  In  your  speech,  employ  Pause  in 
its  different  uses. 

Experiments  to  Develop  Pause 

i.  For  the  first  experiment,  prepare  a  short,  original  talk 
on  some  subject  in  which  you  feel  your  student  audience  is, 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  PAUSE     471 

or  should  be,  most  deeply  interested.  Let  it  be  something 
about  which  you  believe  the  members  of  the  class  will  think 
with  you  while  you  address  them;  for  example,  the  theme 
"Why  am  I  in  college  ?"  or  "What  do  I  hope  to  accomplish 
in  life?"  Do  not  allow  yourself  to  write  and  commit  to 
memory  what  you  have  to  say,  but  make  an  outline  of  the 
few  points  you  wish  to  enforce,  think  these  over  carefully 
until  you  have  the  sequence  of  them  well  in  mind,  then 
speak  extempore  from  your  outline. 

An  ideal  beginning  to  this  experiment  is  to  address  to 
your  hearers  such  pointed  thoughts  as  these:  "Think  who 
you  are.  Think  where  you  are.  Are  you  here  through 
some  sacrifice?  If  so,  contemplate  that  sacrifice  this  mo- 
ment. Consider  what  you  most  desire  in  life.  Is  that 
desire  worthy  of  those  who  sent  you  here?  Is  it  worthy 
of  your  best  self?"  If  you  begin  by  saying  things  like 
these  to  your  audience,  your  reward  will  be  that  you  and 
they  will  pause  after  each  thought  you  utter,  to  think  in- 
tently upon  that  thought. 

When  you  have  said  an  important  thing  and  have  paused 
to  think  that  thing  over  with  the  audience,  swiftly,  (during 
that  same  interval  of  silence)  your  mind  will  turn  from 
the  thing  just  spoken  to  the  thing  about  to  be  spoken,  and 
begin  to  fill  itself  with  a  clear  conception  of  that  thing. 
You  will  perceive  that  there  is  but  an  imaginary  line  divid- 
ing the  two  uses  of  this  same  interval  of  silence ;  also,  that 
the  pause  is  emphatic  in  both  its  uses.  The  principal  em- 
phasis is,  of  course,  effected  when  you  think  over  with  the 
audience  what  you  have  just  said;  but  if  you  pause  long 
enough  to  form  a  clear  conception  of  what  you  are  about 
to  say,  and  if  you  conceive  it  through  its  likeness  to  what  you 


472  PAUSE 

have  just  said,  you  are  giving  your  audience,  in  that  moment^ 
an  opportunity  to  conceive  the  new  idea  with  you.  In  this 
way,  you  emphasize  each  idea  before  you  speak  it — and 
after  you  speak  it. 

2.  As  a  second  experiment,  prepare  a  short,  original  talk 
on  the  subject  in  which  you  believe  the  people  of  your  state  to 
be  most  deeply  interested  at  the  present  time.    Imagine  that 
you  are  to  deliver  your  speech  before  a  small  audience  of  the 
representative  citizens  of  your  state.   Imagine  that  everyone 
present  is  thinking  vigorously  and  earnestly  on  every  point 
you  mention.     Follow  the  same  plan  in  this  talk  as  you 
did   in   experiment    I.      Take   advantage   of   every   oppor- 
tunity to  employ  both  the  primary  and  secondary  uses  of 
the  pause. 

3.  In  the  third  experiment,  let  the  class  be  divided  into 
different  sections,  and  let  each  section  prepare  short,  origi- 
nal talks,  similar  to  those  in  experiments  I  and  2,  for  differ- 
ent occasions.     Let  the  members  of  one  section  imagine 
themselves   addressing   a   fraternity   convention.      Let   the 
members  of  another  section  imagine  themselves  addressing 
a  convention  of  teachers,  or  a  Sunday-school  convention,  or 
a  convention  of  mechanics,  or  a  convention  of  farmers,  etc. 
Discuss  only  those  topics  which  are  worth  thinking  about, 
and  which  you  are  so  anxious  to  have  che  audience  think 
that  you  make  every  possible  use  of  the  pause. 

4.  For  a  fourth  test,  repeat  any  of  the  above  experiments 
before  an  imaginary  audience  that  is  serious  and  desires  to 
think,  but  has  had  little  education.    Determine  to  make  your 
speech   so   simple  that  they  cannot   fail  to  understand  it. 
Next  imagine  yourself  addressing  the  same  speech  to  a 
highly  educated  audience,  and  change  the  length,  frequency, 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  PAUSE     473 

and  intensity  of  your  pauses  to  suit  the  minds  addressed. 
Finally,  make  the  test  of  trying  your  address  before  an 
imaginary  audience  eager  to  be  entertained,  and  see  if  you 
can  adapt  your  pausing  to  the  demands  of  such  an  occa- 
sion. You  will  soon  realize  that  the  thought  you  voice 
must  be  somewhat  changed  to  meet  this  new  demand.  You 
will  also  realize  something  more  important  than  this, 
namely : 

It  is  during  the  pauses  that  the  speaker  discovers 
the  particular  things  to  say  to  reach  the  particular  minds 
now  confronting  him. 

Do  not  misunderstand  this  point.  We  are  not  advising 
that  the  speaker  wait  until  he  is  on  the  platform  to  de- 
termine what  he  is  going  to  say.  What  we  mean  is : 

During  the  pauses  made  in  the  preparation  of  a  speech, 
the  speaker  must  so  clearly  imagine  the  particular  type 
of  minds  he  is  addressing,  that  out  of  this  realization 
arise  the  particular  thoughts  to  be  voiced. 

You  are  now  experimenting  in  the  preparation  of  a 
speech.  Therefore,  in  such  experiments  as  this  one,  is 
your  best  opportunity  to  learn  to  think  your  audience  into 
your  subject  while  you  prepare  your  speech. 

When  Robert  Browning  had  visited  that  most  impres- 
sive place  in  Paris,  where  those  unfortunates  who  have 
been  drowned  in  the  river  Seine  and  are  unknown, 
are  kept,  in  life-like  postures,  to  be  identified  by  any  who 
may  have  known  them,  he  wrote  his  wonderful  poem, 
Apparent  Failure. 

5.  As  a  fifth  experiment,  use  Pause  to  its  full  value  in 
reading  and  reciting  the  following  short  cutting  from  this 
poem. 


474  PAUSE 

".  .  .  Only  the  Doric  little  Morgue!  the  dead-house  where 
you  show  your  drowned!  .  .  .  First  came  the  silent  gazers; 
next,  a  screen  of  glass,  we're  thankful  for;  last,  the  sight's 
self,  the  sermon's  text,  the  three  men  who  did  most  abhor 
their  life  in  Paris  yesterday,  so  killed  themselves:  and  now, 
enthroned,  each  on  his  copper  couch,  they  lay  fronting  me, 
waiting  to  be  owned.  I  thought,  and  think,  their  sin's  atoned. 
Poor  men,  God  made,  and  all  for  that !  .  .  .  It's  wiser  being 
good  than  bad;  it's  safer  being  meek  than  fierce;  it's  fitter 
being  sane  than  mad.  My  own  hope  is,  a  sun  will  pierce  the 
thickest  cloud  earth  ever  stretched;  that,  after  Last,  returns 
the  First,  though  a  wide  compass  round  be  fetched;  that  what 
began  best,  can't  end  worst,  nor  what  God  blessed  once,  prove 


6.  Further  develop  your  ability  to  use  the  Pause  in  em- 
phasis, by  rebuilding  the  great  thoughts  in  the  following 
lines.  First  use  these  lines  from  "Morte  D'Arthur,"  by 
Tennyson : 

"Pray  for  my  soul.  More  things  are  wrought  by  prayer 
than  this  world  dreams  of.  Wherefore,  let  thy  voice  rise  like 
a  fountain  for  me  night  and  day.  For  what  are  men  better 
than  sheep  or  goats  that  nourish  a  blind  life  within  the  brain, 
if,  knowing  God,  they  lift  not  hands  of  prayer  both  for  them- 
selves and  those  who  call  them  friend?  For  so  the  whole 
round  earth  is  every  way  bound  by  gold  chains  about  the 
feet  of  God." 

Next  use  the  last  part  of  Herve  Riel,  beginning  with  che 
line,  "That  he  asked  and  that  he  got,— nothing  more"; 
the  first  part  of  Evelyn  Hope,  and  One  Way  of  Love — 
all  three  by  Browning;  the  Gettysburg  Speech,  by  Lincoln; 
and  Wendell  Phillips'  oration  Toussaint  L'Ouuerture,  as 
abridged  in  most  collections  of  readings. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
CHANGE  OF  PITCH 

IN  the  last  chapter  we  observed  that  pauses  are  often 
much  less  natural  in  reading  aloud  and  in  speaking,  than 
in  conversation.  There  is  as  great  a  difference  between 
the  changes  of  pitch  most  persons  make  in  conversation 
and  those  they  make  when  reading  or  speaking,  as  there 
is  between  the  pauses.  The  author  of  this  book  once  heard 
the  very  small  daughter  of  a  minister  speak  out  in  church 
service  and  say:  "Papa  preaching.  Papa  never  talk  like 
that."  She  was  right.  Her  father,  at  that  moment,  was 
using  very  few  changes  of  pitch.  Those  he  did  make  were 
strained.  How  often  is  one  bored  by  the  monotonous, 
droning  voice  of  someone  reading,  a  short  distance  away. 
In  such  cases,  not  only  the  pauses  are  slighted  but  also  the 
changes  of  pitch. 

To  remedy  this  fault,  to  make  our  reading  and  speaking 
as  natural  and  refreshing  as  agreeable  conversation  is,  we 
must  find  what  spontaneous  act  of  the  mind  causes  a  change 
in  the  pitch  of  the  voice.  We  must  then  train  ourselves  so 
to  think  while  we  are  speaking  or  reading,  that  this  cause 
will  be  active.  If  we  do  this,  Nature  will  produce  her  own 
changes  of  pitch,  which  are  always  pleasing. 

475 


476  CHANGE  OF  PITCH 


THE  CAUSE  OF  CHANGE  IN  PITCH 

When  the  voice  changes  pitch,  there  has  been  a  change 
in  the  mind  of  the  speaker.  His  mental  attitude  has 
changed;  and  the  new  attitude  of  mind  causes  the  change 
in  pitch.  Place  on  the  table  a  handful  of  buttons  of  the 
same  size,  shape,  and  color;  or  let  it  be  any  other  articles 
of  uniform  appearance.  Begin  to  count  them  as  you  pick 
them  up,  one  by  one,  and  lay  them  in  another  place.  Count 
aloud.  You  will  soon  notice  that  you  utter  every  count  in 
the  same  pitch.  You  will  continue  to  do  this  as  long  as 
you  retain  the  same  attitude  of  mind  toward  the  articles 
counted.  But  grow  impatient  at  the  number  of  articles 
to  be  counted,  yet  count  on.  Note  how  each  utterance  is 
now  given  in  a  higher  pitch.  Now  become  sullenly  in- 
different and  note  how  your  voice  drops  to  a  lower  pitch. 
Should  you  discover  among  the  uniform  objects,  something 
you  did  not  expect  to  find  (especially  should  it  be  some- 
thing you  prize  but  thought  you  had  lost)  the  voice  will 
jump  to  a  much  higher  plane  of  pitch.  Now  continue  to 
count  the  uniform  articles  but  think  all  the  while  of  your 
joy  in  finding  the  lost  treasure.  Note  how  the  voice  has 
retained  the  high  plane  of  pitch  to  which  it  jumped  when 
the  lost  article  was  found.  In  all  these  cases,  it  should  be 
clear  that  the  change  in  the  pitch  of  the  voice  is  directly 
caused  by  the  change  in  the  attitude  of  the  speaker's  mind. 

Another  illustration :  Suppose  you  are  watching  a  horse 
that  is  running  away  with  a  boy  who  is  riding  it.  The 
frantic  boy  is  swaying  from  side  to  side.  Suddenly  he 
falls.  As  suddenly  you  change  your  whole  attitude  of  body 


CAUSE  OF  CHANGE  IN  PITCH  477 

as  well  as  of  mind.  If  you  have  been  leaning  intensely 
forward  before  the  boy  fell,  you  will  either  rush  forward 
toward  him  when  you  see  him  fall,  or  you  will  recoil  back- 
ward. What  will  cause  you  to  go  forward,  and  what  will 
cause  you  to  fall  backward?  If  you  are  leaning  for- 
ward in  an  eager  desire  to  help  the  boy,  though  you  knew 
you  could  not  help  him  while  he  was  still  on  the  running 
horse,  the  instant  he  leaves  the  horse  your  mind  leaps  to 
a  determination  to  help  him,  which  it  did  not  have  before. 
This  new  attitude  of  mind  sends  your  body  toward  him. 
But  if  you  were  leaning  forward  with  a  feeling  that  you 
must  somehow  help  the  boy  to  hold  fast,  then  the  instant 
you  see  him  fall,  you  feel  that  it  is  all  over.  Your  mind 
assumes  an  attitude  of  horror  at  the  thought  of  the  boy's 
condition,  and  this  attitude  of  mind  sends  your  body  back- 
ward, away  from  the  boy.  What  would  happen  if  you  were 
leaning  backward  when  the  boy  fell  ?  You  might  instantly 
lean  forward  or  you  might  recoil  still  farther.  If  your 
mind  suddenly  assumed  an  attitude  of  determination  to 
help  the  boy,  or  even  an  attitude  of  curiosity  to  know  his 
condition,  you  would  move  forward  even  though  you  had 
been  shrinking  backward  in  dread.  But  if  your  dread 
should  suddenly  be  turned  into  horror  at  seeing  the  boy's 
lifeless  form,  you  would  shrink  still  farther  backward. 

We  have  dwelt  on  this  situation  at  some  length,  to  analyze 
it  completely  and  leave  no  room  for  doubt  that  whatever 
attitude  the  mind  may  be  in,  if  it  suddenly  change  to  any 
other  attitude  the  change  will  effect  the  entire  body. 

What  is  true  of  the  body  as  a  whole  is  true  of  the  muscles 
which  control  the  voice,  which  are  a  part  of  the  body. 
If  while  watching  the  boy  ride  and  fall,  you  vyere  talking 


47$  CHANGE  OF  PITCH 

to  someone,  the  change  in  the  pitch  of  your  voice  came 
at  the  same  moment  you  changed  attitude  of  body.  Not 
only  these  changes  of  voice  and  body  follow  changes  in 
the  attitude  of  the  mind,  but: 

It  is  impossible  for  the  mind  to  change  quickly  from 
one  decided  attitude  to  another,  while  the  thinker  is 
speaking,  without  the  voice  changing  pitch.  Careful  tests 
have  proved  this  to  be  a  law  of  the  mind  in  speaking. 

(Possible  exceptions  to  this  law  are  the  cases  of  voices 
which  have  been  injured  by  accident  or  disease  and  are, 
therefore,  physically  incapable  of  responding  to  the  action 
of  the  mind.) 

DISTINCTION   BETWEEN   CHANGE   OF   PITCH   AND 
INFLECTION 

So  far  we  have  considered  change  of  pitch  as  if  there 
were  but  one  kind  of  change.  Close  observation,  however, 
will  show  two  very  different  movements  of  the  voice  from 
one  plane  of  pitch  to  another.  One  of  these  movements 
is  made  in  silence;  the  other,  in  sound.  One  is  an  easy 
slide  of  the  voice  up  or  down  the  musical  scale;  the  other 
is  an  abrupt  jump  of  the  voice  up  or  down.  One  move- 
ment is  constantly  taking  place  whenever  the  voice  is 
speaking  in  a  natural  way,  while  the  other  movement  occurs 
only  at  certain  intervals.  One  of  these  movements,  we 
call  Change  of  Pitch.  The  other,  we  call  Inflection. 

Change  of  Pitch  is  an  abrupt  jump  of  the  voice  from 
one  point  on  the  musical  scale  to  another  point  lower 
or  higher  on  the  scale,  and  is  made  in  silence  between 
vocal  sounds. 


RELATION  OF  CHANGE  OF  PITCH  TO  PAUSE      479 

Inflection  is  a  slide  of  the  voice  from  one  point  on  the 
musical  scale  to  another  point  lower  or  higher  on  the 
scale,  and  occurs  during  the  utterance  of  a  vocal  sound. 

The  difference  may  be  made  clearer  by  the  illustration  of 
a  person  walking  up  stairs  and  keeping  his  hand  on  the 
railing.  His  feet  move  as  the  voice  does  in  change  of  pitch. 
His  hand  moves  as  the  voice  does  in  inflection.  Each  foot 
mounts  the  next  step  to  take  the  "pitch"  the  body  is  soon 
to  have.  The  foot  does  this  while  the  progress  of  the 
body  is  stopped — does  it  in  silence,  as  it  were ;  so,  in  change 
of  pitch,  the  voice  jumps  to  a  new  plane  of  pitch  ready 
to  be  used  there  in  the  next  utterance.  The  hand  on  the 
railing  moves  only  during  the  progress  of  the  body  and 
then  it  slides  easily  to  the  next  "pitch" ;  inflection  also 
takes  place  only  during  the  progress  of  the  voice  and  then 
the  voice  slides  and  does  not  jump. 


THE   RELATION   OF   CHANGE   OF   PITCH   TO   PAUSE 

Since  change  of  pitch,  as  we  now  know  it,  occurs  only 
during  an  interval  of  silence,  and  since  it  is  caused  by  a 
change  in  the  attitude  of  the  mind,  is  it  not  demonstrated 
that  change  of  pitch  is  the  outgrowth  of  pause?  If  the 
speaker  make  the  primary  use  of  pause,  to  refill  his  mind, 
that  very  refilling  gives  him  the  new  attitude  of  mind  which, 
in  turn,  causes,  creates  the  change  of  pitch.  If  the  speaker 
make  the  secondary  use  of  pause,  namely  to  think  over 
again,  with  the  listeners,  what  he  has  just  said,  then  that 
very  attention  which  he  devotes  to  his  hearers'  attitude 
toward  his  subject,  creates  a  new  attitude  of  mind,  which, 


480  CHANGE  OF  PITCH 

of  course,  causes  a  change  of  pitch.  A  vigorous  pause 
produces  a  changevof  pitch. 

This  fact  makes  change  of  pitch  subject  to  all  the  con- 
ditions which  govern  pause.  Change  of  pitch  will  also 
vary  just  as  pause  varies.  Whenever  one  finds  it  necessary 
to  make  his  pauses  longer  and  more  frequent,  he  will  find 
a  corresponding  demand  for  more  change  of  pitch.  (See 
discussion  of  How  Pauses  Vary  in  the  chapter  on  Pause.) 
If  a  speaker  is  presenting  a  deep  or  complicated  subject 
or  one  in  which  a  great  deal  of  thought  has  been  con- 
densed into  a  few  words,  then,  in  order  to  make  those 
few  words  carry  the  full  force  of  his  message,  he  must 
assume  toward  every  phrase  of  his  subject  a  new  and 
vigorous  attitude.  Each  of  these  new  attitudes  of  mind 
will  give  his  voice  a  new  pitch.  So,  if  the  speaker  find 
the  auditorium  in  which  he  is  speaking,  a  difficult  one  to 
speak  in,  or  if  he  find  the  audience  a  difficult  one  to  in- 
terest in  his  subject,  he  should  increase  the  changes  of 
his  pitch  of  voice  by  taking  a  new  and  strong  attitude  of 
mind  toward  every  important  thought  he  utters. 

If  this  new  attitude  is  to  be  strong  enough  to  cause  the 
changes  of  pitch  which  the  listeners  should  hear  in  his  voice, 
the  attitude  must  be  toward  the  listeners  as  well  as  toward 
the  thing  talked  about.  We  mean  that  in  taking  each  new 
attitude  toward  the  things  talked  about  the  speaker  must 
be  intensely  conscious  of  the  effort  needed  to  bring  the 
thing  that  is  before  his  own  mind  clearly  before  the  minds 
of  his  listeners.  Nothing  is  more  fatal  to  his  own  effective 
thinking  and  to  his  free  and  emphatic  use  of  change  of 
pitch,  than  for  him  to  turn  his  attention  away  from  the 


ARBITRARY   RULES   ARE   ONLY   DETRIMENTAL     481 

things  talked  about,  and  determine  to  make  the  audience 
hear  by  will  power  and  physical  effort. 


ARBITRARY  RULES  ARE  ONLY  DETRIMENTAL 

If  it  be  necessary  that  the  speaker  pay  attention  to  the 
audience  and  to  the  room  in  which  he  speaks,  obviously 
he  should  not  try  to  fix  upon  definite  changes  of  pitch 
before  he  comes  to  speak.  For  this  reason,  all  rules  which 
dictate  where  the  speaker  should  use  low  pitch,  where  he 
should  use  high  pitch,  etc.,  are  worse  than  useless. 

Some  authors  have  worked  out  elaborate  schemes  for 
the  pitch  of  the  voice.  Some  of  these  authors  tell  us  the 
very  pitch  that  is  required  for  every  sentiment  and  emo- 
tion. For  example,  they  declare  that  sorrow  should  be 
expressed  in  low  pitch;  joy,  in  high  pitch.  Now  neither 
of  these  is  a  law.  Neither  is  an  universal  rule  of  ex- 
pression. Sorrow  may  be  spoken  in  low  pitch,  but  it  may 
also  be  expressed  in  very  high  pitch.  If  the  sorrow  over- 
come the  speaker  so  that  his  loss  seems  very  great,  and  if 
he  feel,  at  the  same  time,  that  it  is  utterly  useless  to  struggle 
against  it,  under  these  conditions,  if  he  should  speak  of 
his  sorrow,  he  would  probably  do  so  in  a  low  pitch  of 
voice.  If,  however,  he  feel  this  same  sorrow  and  if  he 
feel,  at  the  same  time,  a  spirit  of  resentment  at  the  fate 
which  brings  him  the  sorrow,  he  will  probably  express  his 
sorrow  in  very  high  pitch.  So  it  is  with  the  expression 
of  joy.  If  the  feeling  of  joy  arouse  in  the  speaker  an 
intensely  active  attitude  of  mind  toward  the  thing  which 
has  caused  the  joy,  he  will  use  high  pitch  of  voice  in  speak^ 


482  CHANGE  OF  PITCH 

ing  out  that  joy.  But  if  the  satisfaction  the  joy  brings 
to  him  be  so  great  that  his  mind  assumes  an  attitude  of 
joyful  contentment,  then  he  will  express  a  very  full  joy 
but  he  will  do  it  in  a  very  low  voice. 

As  in  these  cases,  so  in  all  cases,  it  will  be  found  that 
the  attitude  of  mind  growing  out  of  the  emotion  felt  will 
govern  the  pitch  of  the  voice  as  it  expresses  that  emotion. 
This  is  a  law  of  mind  worth  observing.  It  removes  the 
necessity  for  rules  to  tell  us  when  and  where  we  must 
change  pitch,  and  what  plane  of  pitch  we  must  use  for 
certain  feelings.  This  law  leaves  us  free  to  develop  and 
to  use  this  great  mode  of  emphasis,  Change  of  Pitch,  as 
a  part  of  our  thinking  process.  To  acquire  mastery  of 
change  of  pitch,  the  speaker  has  but  one  thing  to  do, 
namely : 

Train  the  mind  to  assume  on  the  instant,  while  speak- 
ing, a  strong,  imaginative,  and  sympathetic  attitude 
toward  everything  of  which  he  speaks  and  toward  every 
audience  to  which  he  speaks. 


THE   VALUE   OF    CHANGE   OF   PITCH 

Change  of  pitch  brings  decided  benefit  both  to  the 
speaker  and  to  the  audience.  For  the  speaker,  it  is  the 
means  nature  has  provided  for  resting  the  voice.  Every 
one  knows  how  wearing  it  is  to  continue  to  make  any 
one  muscular  motion  for  a  great  number  of  times.  To 
extend  the  empty  hand  straight  above  the  shoulder  as  high 
as  one  can  reach  seems  a  simple  and  easy  motion  to  make; 
but  let  the  average  person  do  this  five  hundred  times,  and  he 


THE  VALUE  OF  CHANGE  OF  PITCH  483 

will  become  exhausted.  The  same  conditions  are  found  in 
using  the  voice.  To  utter  any  one  tone  seems  to  require 
no  effort  at  all.  In  only  five  minutes'  use  of  the  voice, 
however,  several  thousand  tones  are  spoken.  If  the 
speaker  make  but  little  change  of  pitch  during  five  minutes 
of  speaking,  it  is  clear  that  he  is  compelling  the  delicate 
muscles  which  control  the  changes  of  pitch,  to  make  the 
same  motion  many  thousands  of  times.  The  result  is 
evident.  The  voice  is  being  worn  out.  If  the  study  of 
change  of  pitch  did  nothing  more  than  preserve  the  voice 
and  keep  it  fresh  and  rested,  such  study  would  prove  itself 
of  inestimable  value  to  the  speaker. 

Mastery  of  change  of  pitch  brings  great  benefit  also  to 
the  audience.  There  are  delicate  nerves  catching  the  pitch 
in  the  ear  just  as  there  are  delicate  muscles  which  control 
the  pitch  of  the  voice.  If  the  ear  is  compelled  to  listen 
to  one  tone  repeated  a  great  number  of  times  the  ear  be- 
comes as  tired  as  does  the  voice  that  is  compelled  to  repeat 
that  tone.  The  author  has  listened  to  speakers  whose  pitch 
was  so  monotonous  that  it  seemed  impossible  to  endure 
the  strain  to  the  end  of  the  speech.  He  has  felt  sometimes 
that  if  the  speaker  did  not  vary  his  pitch  he  himself  would 
shout  aloud  just  for  the  sake  of  hearing  a  change.  Many 
others  have  had  similar  experiences.  Let  someone  go 
to  the  piano  and  continue,  for  some  time,  to  strike  the  same 
key.  Will  you  enjoy  listening  to  the  one  insistent  note? 
Surely  no  proof  is  needed  that  the  audience  is  kept  rested 
and  alert  to  listen  to  the  message  of  the  speaker,  through 
a  natural  use  of  change  of  pitch. 

To  keep  the  ear  and  the  nerves  of  the  listener  un- 
wearied is  a  good  thing,  but  there  is  a  greater  help  than 


484  CHANGE  OF  PITCH 

this  physical  one.  Change  of  pitch  works  upon  the  minds 
of  the  listeners  as  well  as  upon  their  ears.  It  brings  them 
psychic  as  well  as  physical  help.  "We  are  creatures  of 
habit"  is  a  very  old  saying.  It  means  that  we  are  the 
children — the  outgrowth — of  associations.  We  have 
learned  to  estimate  everything  by  the  principal  things  with 
which  each  thing  is  associated.  Note  how  this  principle 
applies  here.  Every  listener  has  been  accustomed,  all  his 
life,  to  hear  a  change  of  pitch  in  the  voice  of  anyone 
conversing  with  him  whenever  the  person  speaking  wishes 
to  show  the  importance  of  a  thought.  In  other  words,  each 
listener  has  always  heard  the  converser's  voice  change 
whenever  he  took  a  new  attitude  toward  the  thing  talked 
about.  This  means  that  everyone  in  the  audience  has 
come  to  estimate  the  importance  of  the  thing  spoken,  by 
the  change  of  pitch  associated  with  that  thing.  If  the 
speaker  does  not  assume  new  attitudes,  his  voice  will  not 
have  the  changes  of  pitch  and,  as  a  result,  the  audience 
will  unconsciously  decide  that  nothing  important  is  being 
said,  and  will  settle  back  to  wait  for  something  worth 
while.  It  is  apparent,  then,  that  chance  of  pitch  is  a  most 
important  mode  of  emphasis. 


How  Change  of  Pitch  May  Be  Developed 

Shall  the  student  of  public  speaking  decide  that  he  can 
do  nothing  to  develop  this  faculty — that  it  must  take  care 
of  itself  ?  Or  shall  he  infer  that,  if  he  learn  to  think  well, 
his  thinking  process  will  produce  all  the  changes  of  pitch 
his  voice  needs.  A  moment's  thought  will  show  that 


HOW  CHANGE  OF  PITCH  MAY  BE  DEVELOPED     485 

either  of  these  conclusions  is  unwise.  If  the  voice  could 
take  care  of  itself  in  respect  of  this  faculty  we  should  not 
find  it  undeveloped  in  nearly  every  speaker  whose  voice 
has  not  been  trained.  If  good  thinking  only  were  required 
to  accomplish  changes  of  pitch,  every  good  thinker  would 
have  good  change  of  pitch.  Do  we  find  this  to  be  the 
case?  If  the  reader  thinks  so,  let  him  listen  to  the  public 
utterance  of  men  who  are  known  as  keen  or  deep  thinkers 
but  who  have  had  no  training  in  speech.  He  will  find  that,  as 
a  general  rule,  the  deeper  the  thinker  the  more  monotonous 
his  voice  in  public  speech,  unless  he  has  applied  his  think- 
ing successfully  to  vocal  development. 

The  problem  before  the  student  who  wishes  to  be 
emphatic  yet  agreeable  in  his  public  utterances,  is  the 
problem  of  turning  his  thinking  into  voice  production. 

The  particular  act  of  thinking  which  produces  change 
of  pitch  we  have  found  to  be  the  change  of  the  mind's 
attitude. 

How  may  one  train  his  mind  to  make  this  necessary 
change  of  attitude  while  and  whenever  he  is  speaking? 
In  this,  as  we  have  found  in  all  other  efforts  to  train  the 
thought  process,  we  must  begin  with  the  imagination.  The 
speaker  pauses,  as  we  found  in  the  last  chapter,  to  fill  his 
mind  with  thoughts  of  the  next  thing  to  be  spoken  of. 
What  do  we  mean  by  that  expression?  What  are  the 
"thoughts'*  with  which  he  fills  his  mind"?  These  thoughts 
should  be,  first,  discoveries  of  the  inner  nature  of  the 
thing  about  to  be  spoken  of,  and  secondly,  discoveries  of 
what  that  thing  is  capable  of  doing  for  the  audience. 

To  illustrate:  A  strong  political  speaker  stands  before 
an  audience  to  nominate  his  favorite  candidate  who  hap- 


486  CHANGE  OF  PITCH 

pens  to  be  a  man  of  sterling  worth  and  large  abilities.  He 
has  just  given  a  few  moments'  consideration  to  each  of 
the  other  men  seeking  the  same  nomination.  He  has 
acknowledged  their  good  traits  and  their  abilities,  but  we 
noticed  that  whenever  he  spoke  of  these  qualities,  his  voice 
was  not  emphatic.  He  displayed  little  change  of  pitch. 
Presently  he  exclaims:  "But,  gentlemen,  above  all  these 
stands  a  man — — "  A  change  has  come  over  the  speaker! 
At  the  very  thought  of  the  hero  whom  he  wishes  to 
nominate,  his  voice  leaped  to  a  much  higher  pitch,  and 
now,  as  he  recounts  the  virtues  of  his  candidate,  one  by 
one,  we  observe  that  a  great  change  of  pitch  marks  every 
new  utterance.  But  note  another  thing !  See  how  his  face 
lights  up  as  he  dwells  upon  the  clear  vision  of  his  favorite ; 
how  dark  his  countenance  becomes  in  telling  of  that  man's 
stern  resistance  to  the  forces  of  evil.  Observe,  too,  how  the 
speaker  makes  us  sit  up  straighter  as  he  himself  grows 
taller  and  mightier  in  telling  how  this  man  will  be  our 
champion  and  will  lead  us  out  of  our  perplexities  and  on 
to  victory! 

Do  not  miss  the  valuable  lesson  that  this  man  is  giving 
us — the  lesson  in  voice.  We  have  observed  this  speaker 
under  such  conditions  as  caused  him  to  speak  more  freely, 
more  naturally,  and  more  emphatically  than  he  ever  did 
before.  We  see  the  cause  of  that  success. 

He  centered  his  imagination  upon  each  thing  before 
he  spoke  it.  Secondly,  he  so  intensely  realized  the  inner 
nature — the  very  life-force — of  the  thing  about  to  be 
spoken  of,  that  that  force  entered  his  own  being  and 
aroused  in  him  a  strong,  quick  attitude  toward  that  thing 
and  toward  his  audience. 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  CHANGE  OF  PITCH          487 

Let  the  intending  speaker  get  such  imaginative  realities 
as  those  suggested  in  the  last  paragraph,  get  them  from 
each  new  thing  about  to  be  broached  in  his  speaking,  and 
he  will  soon  have  those  free  and  clear  changes  of  pitch 
which  will  add  immeasurably  to  the  effectiveness  of  his 
delivery. 


Practice  in  Speaking  on  Change  of  Pitch 

Make  your  own  plan  or  outline  for  a  speech  on  this 
chapter.  Make  it  your  speech,  that  you  may  be  able  to 
assume  the  quickest  and  strongest  possible  attitudes  toward 
everything  of  which  you  speak.  To  do  this,  use  the 
principles  set  forth  in  this  chapter,  only  as  a  basis  for  your 
talk.  Let  your  speech  consist  of  an  application  of  these 
principles  to  things  you  have  experienced  and  observed  con- 
cerning change  of  pitch.  Be  prepared  to  make  a  short 
extempore  speech  on  any  one  division  of  the  subject  or  on 
the  entire  chapter. 


Experiments  in  Change  of  Pitch 

i.  In  the  first  experiment,  repeat  the  first  and  second 
experiments  from  the  chapter  on  Pause.  This  time,  make 
the  strongest  possible  primary  use  of  the  pause,  namely,  to 
refill  the  mind,  realizing  that  it  is  while  the  mind  is  refilling 
itself  that  it  makes  the  decided  change  in  attitude  that  pro- 
duces good  change  of  pitch.  Therefore,  while  you  are  gain- 
ing the  fullest  possible  conception  of  the  next  thing  to  be 


CHANGE  OF  PITCH 

spoken,  make  the  change  of  your  mental  attitude  so  great 
that  the  listener  cannot  fail  to  sense  the  decided  change  in 
your  voice.  Try  to  feel  that  your  emphasis  depends  wholly 
on  your  change  of  pitch,  and  that  the  pauses  you  make  are 
useless  unless  they  bring  forth  the  decided  changes  in  your 
mind  which  show  themselves  in  change  of  pitch.  To  make 
your  pauses  do  this,  you  will  find  it  necessary  to  keep  your 
audience  constantly  in  mind.  While  you  think  each  new 
thought,  you  must  determine  to  cause  the  mental  attitude  of 
the  listener  to  change  as  much  as  your  own  attitude  changes. 

2.  As  a  second  experiment,  stimulate,  in  your  mind  and 
voice,  all  the  sources  of  Change  of  Pitch,  by  building  all 
the  conceptions  and  then  reading  and  reciting  the  follow- 
ing lines  from  Wordsworth's  Table  Turned: 

Up!  up!  my  friend,  and  quit  your  books;  or  surely  you'll 
grow  double.  Up!  up!  my  friend,  and  clear  your  looks;  why 
all  this  toil  and  trouble?  The  sun,  above  the  mountain's  head, 
a  freshening  lustre  mellow,  through  all  the  long,  green  fields 
has  spread  his  first  sweet  evening  yellow. 

Books !  'tis  a  dull  and  endless  strife !  Come,  hear  the  wood- 
land linnet,  how  sweet  his  music !  On  my  life  there's  more 
of  wisdom  in  it.  And  hark !  how  blithe  the  throstle  sings ! 
He,  too,  is  no  mean  preacher !  Come  forth  into  the  light  of 
things,  let  Nature  be  your  teacher.  She  has  a  world  of  ready 
wealth,  our  minds  and  hearts  to  bless — spontaneous  wisdom 
breathed  by  health,  truth  breathed  by  cheerfulness. 

One  impulse  from  a  vernal  wood  may  teach  you  more  of 
man,  of  moral  evil  and  of  good,  than  all  the  sages  can.  Sweet 
is  the  lore  which  Nature  brings;  our  meddling  intellect  mis- 
shapes the  beauteous  form  of  things:  we  murder  to  dissect. 
Enough  of  Science  and  of  Art;  close  up  those  barren  leaves; 
come  forth,  and  bring  with  you  a  heart  that  watches  and 
receives. 

3.  For  the  third  experiment,  conceive  the  many  and  in- 
tense changes  from  one  attitude  to  another,  which  the  mind 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  CHANGE  OF  PITCH         489 

makes  in  thinking  the  following  lines  from  Shakespeare 
( Sonnet  XXIX) .  Imagine  yourself  going  through  these  ex- 
periences— first,  desperately  unhappy  ones,  then,  buoyantly 
happy  experiences — and  letting  the  mind  change  quickly 
and  vigorously  from  one  thing  contemplated  to  the  next. 

When,  in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  men's  eyes,  I,  all  alone, 
beweep  my  outcast  state,  and  trouble  deaf  heaven  with  my 
bootless  cries,  and  look  upon  myself  and  curse  my  fate;  wishing 
me  like  to  one  more  rich  in  hope,  featured  like  him,  like  him 
with  friends  possest,  desiring  this  man's  art,  and  that  man's 
scope,  with  what  I  most  enjoy  contented  least;  yet  in  these 
thoughts  myself  almost  despising,  haply  I  think  on  Thee — 
and  then  my  state,  like  to  the  lark  at  break  of  day  arising 
from  sullen  earth,  sings  hymns  at  heaven's  gate;  for  thy  sweet 
love  remembered,  such  wealth  brings,  that  then  I  scorn  to 
change  my  state  with  kings. 

4.  Fourth  experiment.  Further  develop  your  change  of 
pitch  through  thoroughly  building  all  the  conceptions  and 
then  reading  and  reciting  the  following  short  selections 
from  Scott.  The  first  is  from  Wild  Huntsman: 

The  Wildgrave  winds  his  bugle  horn,  to  horse,  to  horse ! 
halloo,  halloo  !  His  fiery  courser  snuffs  the  morn,  and  thronging 
serfs  their  lords  pursue.  The  eager  pack,  from  couples  freed, 
dash  through  the  brush,  the  brier,  the  brake;  while  answering 
hound,  and  horn,  and  steed,  the  mountain  echoes  startling  wake. 

The  second  excerpt  is  from  Redgauntlet,  p.  232: 

Cock  up  your  beaver,  and  cock  it  full  sprush  (spruce) ;  we'll 
over  the  border  and  give  them  a  brush.  There's  somebody 
there  we'll  teach  better  behavior.  Hey,  Johnnie  lad,  cock  up 
your  beaver. 

Away  to  the  hills,  to  the  caves,  to  the  rocks — ere  I  own  a 
usurper,  I'll  couch  with  the  fox;  and  tremble,  false  Whigs,  in 
the  midst  of  your  glee,  you  have  not  seen  the  last  of  my  bonnet 
and  me!  (From  Dundee.} 


49O  CHANGE  OF  PITCH 

The  following  stirring  lines  are  from  The  Monastery, 
p.  231 : 

Come  from  the  hills  where  your  hirsels  are  grazing,  come 
from  the  glen  of  the  buck  and  the  roe;  come  to  the  crag 
where  the  beacon  is  blazing,  come  with  the  buckler,  the  lance, 
and  the  bow.  Trumpets  are  sounding,  war-steeds  are  bounding. 
Stand  to  your  arms,  and  march  in  good  order;  England  shall 
many  a  day  tell  of  the  bloody  fray,  when  the  Blue  Bonnets 
came  over  the  Border. 

If  still  other  selections  are  desired  for  the  development 
of  change  of  pitch,  the  first  part  of  Herve  Riel,  by  Brown- 
ing, and  Canto  CVI  of  In  Memoriam,  by  Tennyson,  re- 
quire unusual  changes  of  mental  attitudes  and  consequent 
changes  of  pitch.  If  the  latter  is  used,  it  will  be  found 
advantageous  to  begin  with  the  line,  "Ring  out  wild  bells 
to  the  wild  sky,"  and  end  with  the  line  "Ring  in  the  Christ 
that  is  to  be." 


CHAPTER  XXV 
INFLECTION 

INFLECTION  is  based  on  that  quality  of  voice  known  as 
Flexibility.  Instead  of  devoting  a  separate  chapter  to 
Flexibility  we  have  chosen  to  treat  it  in  connection  with 
Inflection — for  two  reasons:  because  they  are  so  closely 
related  and  because  Flexibility  of  voice  can  best  be  de- 
veloped by  developing  and  using  Inflection.  Flexibility 
means  the  ability  to  bend.  We  pick  up  a  piece  of  wood 
or  metal  and  exclaim :  "Why,  that  is  quite  flexible !"  We 
mean  that  we  can  bend  it  decidedly  and  readily  back  and 
forth.  When  we  say  that  a  certain  voice  is  flexible,  we 
mean  that  voice  frequently  moves  up  and  down  the  musical 
scale  when  it  is  speaking.  Flexibility  is  principally  a  yield- 
ing process.  The  voice  yields  and  allows  itself  to  be  bent 
up  and  down  the  musical  scale  when  certain  causes  are 
active.  We  shall  find  what  these  causes  are  in  our  study 
of  Inflection. 


THE  POWER  OF  INFLECTION  AS  A  MODE  OF  EMPHASIS 

No  other  mode  of  emphasis,  perhaps,  is  so  capable  of 
producing  good  or  bad  results  as  inflection.  This  is  so 
from  its  very  nature.  In  the  act  of  inflection,  the  voice  is 

49i 


492  INFLECTION 

easily  bent  this  way  or  that.  Anything  that  is  easily  bent 
is  easily  bent  wrong.  We  are  passing  a  beautiful  lawn, 
and  note  how  well  it  is  kept  watered.  Presently  we  see  a 
small  child  sprinkling  the  grass.  She  is  so  small  she  can 
barely  lift  the  hose,  yet  so  easily  is  the  hose  >ent  from  side 
to  side  that  even  so  tiny  a  tot  can  make  it  do  effective 
work.  But  suddenly  our  admiration  is  checked — we  are 
drenched.  The  child  was  not  master  of  the  "inflection" 
of  the  hose,  and  the  same  characteristic  that  made  it  turn 
so  easily  in  the  right  direction  made  it  turn  as  easily  in 
the  wrong  direction.  The  same  is  true  of  the  voice. 

We  shall  find  that  every  slightest  inflection  of  the  voice 
makes  a  certain  impression  on  the  ear  of  the  listener — 
gives  him  a  certain  meaning  for  our  message  which  we  may 
or  may  not  intend.  If  we  are  masters  both  of  our  thinking 
and  of  our  voices,  so  that  our  minds  keep  to  the  subject 
every  moment  we  speak,  and  so  that  our  voices  respond 
to  our  thinking,  then  inflection  becomes  a  force  in  "driving 
home"  what  we  mean  to  convey.  But  if,  as  with  the  child, 
the  hose  wobbles  in  our  hands  (if  the  voice  wobbles  away 
from  the  subject  or  away  from  our  purpose),  then  every 
moment  of  inflection  is  so  much  force  turned  in  the  wrong 
direction,  and  lessens  the  meaning  we  intend.  To  speak 
with  sure  effect,  it  is  necessary  that  we  cultivate  inflection 
with  the  utmost  care. 


THE  ELEMENTS  OF  INFLECTION 

The  general  movement  of  the  voice  which  we  call  in- 
flection, is  made  up  of  four  parts  or  elements.     Each  of 


DIRECTION   OF   INFLECTION  493 

these  has  its  own  mental  cause  and  each  delivers  its  own 
mental  message  to  the  listeners.  These  elements  are: 
Direction  of  Inflection,  Length  of  Inflection,  Abruptness 
of  Inflection  and  Straightness  of  Infection.  Each  of  these 
can  best  be  developed  separately  by  stimulating  the  causes 
which  produce  that  element  of  inflection.  We  shall  first 
consider — 

DIRECTION  OF  INFLECTION 

Since  inflection  is  the  sliding  of  the  voice  up  or  down 
the  musical  scale,  it  is  clear  that  the  voice  must  be  moving 
either  up  or  down  the  scale  every  moment  that  inflection 
is  taking  place.  It  may  be  interesting  in  this  connection 
to  note  the  difference  between  a  note  of  speech  and  a  note 
of  song.  A  true  note  of  song  never  changes  pitch;  a  true 
note  of  speech  always  changes  pitch.  A  note  of  song  is 
struck  at  a  certain  pitch  on  the  musical  scale  and  continues 
on  that  same  plane  of  pitch  until  it  dies  away  in  silence. 
A  note  of  speech  begins  at  some  point  on  the  scale  and 
continues  to  change  its  plane  of  pitch  every  moment  of 
its  existence  as  a  sound. 

The  cause  of  this  difference  is  important  to  the  student 
of  speech.  What  causes  the  voice  to  move  up  or  down 
the  scale  while  it  is  uttering  a  sound?  Someone  speaks 
the  simple  word  "no."  His  voice  moves  down  the  scale 
during  that  utterance.  In  every-day  terms,  his  voice  falls. 
What  do  we  feel  is  this  person's  attitude  toward  the  thing 
talked  about  ?  We  feel  that  his  mind  has  deliberately  broken 
connection  with  all  things  else  which  might  be  said  on  the 
subject — has  stopped  right  where  it  is.  He  speaks  the 


494  INFLECTION 

word  "no"  again;  and  this  time  his  voice  moves  up  the 
scale  instead  of  down.  What  meaning  do  we  get  now? 
We  know  that  his  mind  has  not  broken  connection  with 
the  thing  discussed.  We  know,  furthermore,  that  his  mind 
is  rapidly  going  forward  in  search  of  other  thoughts  about 
that  thing.  In  these  two  simple  utterances  of  the  same 
word,  we  have  the  whole  philosophy  of  direction  of  in- 
flection. 

If  the  mind  of  the  speaker  is  already  looking  forward 
and  thinking  of  something  else  to  say  while  his  voice 
is  speaking  a  word,  he  will  speak  that  word  with  a  rising 
inflection.  If  the  mind  ceases  to  go  forward  and  stops 
to  reconsider  what  has  been  spoken,  the  voice  falls. 

This  seems  a  simple  act,  so  simple  that  it  would  hardly 
demand  special  attention.  A  noteworthy  fact,  however,  is 
that  the  average  student  of  speech  has  little,  if  any,  control 
over  his  mind  or  his  voice  in  this  simple  act  when  speaking 
before  an  audience.  A  good  test  of  this  is,  to  let  the 
student  memorize  and  prepare  for  delivery  some  short 
selection — let  him  speak  it.  Then  ask  him  to  repeat  a  line 
or  two  of  it  and  change  his  attitudes  of  mind  as  he  speaks 
it  again.  Let  him  understand  clearly  that  he  is  asked  to 
make  his  mind  look  forward  at  certain  places  where  it 
was  observed  to  stop  before,  or  to  make  the  mind  conclude 
in  certain  places  where  it  looked  forward  before.  Even 
go  so  far  as  to  tell  him  to  let  his  voice  fall  at  certain  places 
where  it  did  not  fall  before.  Many  students  will  be  found 
who  cannot  do  this  simple  thing;  and  many  others,  who 
can  do  it  only  with  great  effort.  Certainly  all  such  persons 
need  not  be  told  that  they  must  master  themselves  in  this 
before  they  can  become  free  and  natural  in  emphasis. 


LENGTH  OF   INFLECTION  495 

Those  students,  too,  who  find  that  they  can  easily  turr 
their  inflection  up  or  down  at  will,  may  find  much  benefit 
from  careful  training  in  this  act,  because,  while  they  may 
easily  turn  the  voice  this  way  and  that  when  they  determine 
to  do  so,  when  before  an  audience  they  are  very  apt  to 
slight  this  act  or  to  perform  it  wrongly  and  lose  its  aid  as 
a  means  of  emphasis. 


LENGTH  OF  INFLECTION 

The  length  of  an  inflection  is  the  distance  the  voice 
travels  up  or  down  the  musical  scale  during  the  utterance 
of  any  one  tone. 

It  has  absolutely  nothing  to  do  with  the  amount  of 
time  consumed  in  speaking  the  word  or  syllable.  A  long 
inflection  may  be  spoken  quickly  or  a  short  inflection 
may  be  spoken  slowly. 

The  length  of  an  inflection  is  also  independent  of  the 
direction  of  that  same  inflection.  We  mean  that  whether 
the  voice  rises  or  falls,  the  inflection  may  be  just  as  long 
or  just  as  short  as  if  the  voice  had  moved  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

The  easiest  way  to  discover  the  cause  of  length  of  in- 
flection is,  to  find  what  makes  one  inflection  long  and 
another  short.  For  this  purpose,  let  us  make  our  minds 
our  laboratories  for  a  few  minutes.  Let  us  suppose  that 
we  have  before  us  a  pile  of  apples  which  we  are  counting 
one  by  one.  We  count  aloud  in  friendly  fashion.  For  a 
time,  there  is  no  marked  difference  between  one  apple  and 
another,  and  we  find  our  voices  using  the  same  length  of 


496  INFLECTION 

inflection  for  every  tone  spoken.  Suddenly  we  come  upon 
an  apple  that  is  both  larger  and  brighter  in  color  than  any  of 
the  others,  and  we  find  ourselves  pronouncing  its  number 
in  a  longer  inflection.  In  this  simple  act  we  have  found 
one  cause  of  length  of  inflection.  It  is  the  difference 
in  the  nature  of  things  talked  about. 

We  count  on  till  one  of  us  finds  an  apple  which  he  recog- 
nizes as  his  favorite  of  all  kinds  of  apples.  As  the  number 
of  that  apple  is  pronounced,  the  inflection  of  the  voice  is 
decidedly  longer.  What  has  caused  this  ?  The  speaker  has 
discovered  something  not  only  very  different  from  other 
things  observed,  but  a  thing  which  has  meant  something  to 
him  personally.  Here  we  have  the  second  cause  of  length 
of  inflection.  It  is  the  personal  interest  of  the  speaker 
in  the  thing  spoken  of. 

But  mark!  The  speaker  turns  to  his  friend  and 
says.  "Have  you  never  eaten  a  'belle-flower'?  Taste 
it!"  On  these  words,  the  inflections  are  extremely  long. 
What  caused  this  change  in  the  voice?  The  speaker  has  a 
strong  desire  to  impress  the  listener's  mind  with  the 
thing  which  impresses  himself.  This  is  the  third  and  last 
cause  of  length  of  inflection. 

In  general  terms,  one  does  not  speak  in  very  long  in- 
flections till  he  is  moved  by  the  last  of  these  causes.  How- 
ever much  difference  there  may  be  between  the  thing  spoken 
of  and  other  things,  that  difference  will  probably  not  give 
the  speaker's  voice  great  length  of  inflection  unless  it  is  of 
decided  interest  to  the  speaker;  and  even  if  it  is  of  great 
importance  to  the  speaker,  he  may  still  not  speak  in  a  very 
long  inflection  of  voice  if  he  does  not  feel  the  value,  to 
the  listener,  of  the  thing  spoken  of.  The  greatest  length 


ABRUPTNESS  OF  INFLECTION  497 

of  inflection  is  reached  when  the  speaker  is  moved  by  all 
three  causes. 


ABRUPTNESS   OF   INFLECTION 

Abruptness  of  inflection  consists  in  the  degree  of  rapidity 
with  which  a  tone  is  inflected.  It  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  length  or  with  the  direction  of  the  inflection.  That 
is,  the  tone  may  be  a  rising  one  or  a  falling  one,  and  the 
voice  may  move  a  short  distance  or  a  long  distance  up 
or  down  the  scale,  without  making  the  tones  more  abrupt 
or  less  so;  and  a  word  may  be  spoken  with  any  degree  of 
abruptness  from  a  slow  drawl  to  a  snap  or  an  explosion 
of  the  voice,  and  yet  have  the  same  direction  and  the  same 
length  of  inflection  all  the  time. 

The  cause  of  abruptness  is  easy  to  determine  when  we 
understand  clearly  the  nature  of  abruptness.  Let  us  first 
observe  that  an  abrupt  inflection  is  not  necessarily  a  violent 
one.  We  are  apt  to  think  that  when  the  voice  breaks  or 
bursts  forth,  it  then  becomes  abrupt  and  that  all  lesser 
degrees  of  rapidity  in  the  voice  are  something  quite  differ- 
ent. A  closer  study  reveals  this  fact: 

Whether  the  voice  drawl  or  whether  it  explode  it  does 
both  from  the  same  cause.  The  difference  comes  from 
the  fact  that  in  the  drawl  there  is  very  little  of  the  cause 
acting  while  in  the  explosion  of  the  voice  the  cause  has 
become  very  strong. 

In  the  drawl  the  mind  has  a  very  low  degree  of  vigor; 
in  the  explosion,  the  vigor  of  the  mind  is  of  high  degree. 
Here  we  have  the  philosophy  of  abruptness  of  inflection. 


498  INFLECTION 

Degrees  of  abruptness  of  inflection  arise  from  the  de- 
grees of  vigor  in  the  mind  of  the  speaker. 

This  one  cause  may  assume  many  forms.  Because  of 
this  the  student  may  think  he  has  found  many  causes  for 
this  element  of  inflection.  He  may  hear  some  person  utter 
the  word  "no"  when  impatience  seems  to  be  the  real  cause 
of  the  quickness  or  abruptness  of  the  inflection.  He  may 
hear  it  again  when  anger  seems  to  be  the  cause;  or  again, 
when  excitement,  or  horror,  or  joy  apparently  produces 
it.  A  moment's  thought  will  show  us,  however,  that  any 
one  of  these  (or  a  hundred  other  impulses)  which  may 
seem  to  cause  abruptness,  is  only  the  form  which  the  vigor 
assumes  and  that  the  real  cause,  active  in  all  forms,  is 
the  vigor  of  thinking. 


STRAIGHTNESS   OF   INFLECTION 

Just  as  in  length  and  abruptness  of  inflection  there  are 
many  degrees,  so  there  are  in  Straightness  of  Inflection. 

Straightness  of  inflection  means  the  directness  with 
which  the  voice  moves  from  any  one  point  to  another 
point  lower  or  higher  on  the  musical  scale. 

The  voice  may  make  these  moves  with  absolute  straight- 
ness  or  it  may  travel  a  crooked  and  indirect  road  from  one 
point  to  another  on  the  scale.  When,  for  example,  a  person 
says  "no"  his  voice  may  fall,  or  slide  down  the  scale,  in 


this  manner:        Nfc.       Presently,  we  may  hear  the  same 
word  spoken  when  the  voice  seems  to  travel  a  road  like 


STRAIGHTNESS  OF  INFLECTION  499 

this:  \6  xy^ ^v  '/  Could  3,ny  two  simple  expres- 
sions be  more  unlike?  It  hardly  seems  the  same  word 
spoken  both  times. 

Whatever  it  is  the  voice  does  that  can  so  completely 
change  the  sound  of  a  word,  no  argument  is  needed  to 
prove  that  act  of  the  voice  a  great  power  as  a  means  of 
emphasis.  We  should  be  very  unwise,  in  our  efforts  to 
become  effective  speakers,  if  we  did  not  discover  the  cause 
of  straightness  of  inflection  and  develop  that  cause. 

What  causes  the  voice  to  wander  both  up  and  down  the 
scale  in  sounding  a  single  tone?  Why  does  it  not  always 
make  a  single,  direct  movement,  either  up  or  down  ?  Listen ! 
That  boy  has  just  said,  with  much  emphasis:  "I  want 
my  knife,  not  my  book!"  The  word  "knife"  was  in- 
flected thus :  ^  ^  "^^^  .  and  the  word  "book»"  thus : 

What  was  the  boy's  mind  trying 

to  do?  It  was  trying  to  cause  the  listener  to  fix  his  mind 
upon  the  thing  called  "knife."  To  accomplish  this,  he,  felt 
the  necessity  of  turning  the  listener's  mind  away  from  the 
thing  called  "book."  When  he  spoke  each  of  these  words, 
his  mind  was  trying*  to  make  a  sharp  distinction  between 
the  two  things,  book  and  knife.  In  other  words,  his  mind 
had  to  travel  rapidly  back  and  forth,  back  and  forth,  be- 
tween the  two  things  spoken  of,  while  his  voice  was  pro- 
nouncing the  name  of  either  oi  those  things.  What  could 
the  voice  do  but  go  along  with  the  mind? 


500  INFLECTION 

The  cause  of  these  crooked  inflections  is  very  clear. 
They  simply  mark  the  crooked  pathway  the  mind  pur- 
sues while  the  voice  is  uttering  a  single  tone. 

The  crooked  inflection  is  called  the  circumflex.  This 
same  cause  may  always  be  found  whenever  the  voice  makes 
a  circumflex  or  unstraight  inflection. 

The  reason  the  speaker's  mind  wanders  back  and  forth 
on  one  word,  is  not  always  a  conscious  desire  to  make  a 
sharp  distinction  between  two  things,  as  it  was  when  the 
boy  spoke  of  his  knife  and  book.  Hear  that  other  boy 

say:    ^o       ^/~^P  •     -^s  m^n(^   'ls  certainly  not  trying 

hard  to  do  anything.  The  boy's  one  thought  is,  to  be  let 
alone.  His  mind  seems  too  lazy  to  travel  in  any  kind  of 
path,  straight  or  crooked;  yet,  if  we  put  ourselves  into  his 
attitude  and  speak  that  word,  we  readily  discover  that  this 
very  laziness  of  the  mind,  this  desire  to  be  let  alone  and 
to  do  nothing,  causes  the  mind  to  travel.  It  pushes  slowly 
outward,  as  if  to  repel  the  intruder,  then  draws  back  and 
pushes  forth  again,  while  the  voice  is  speaking  the  one 
word  "don't." 

Listen!  That  was  a  fine  example  of  circumflex  in- 
flection when  that  child  said,  with  a  curl  of  the  lip  :  "You 


think  you  are       <^/^  "^-    *f  we  imPersonate 


child,  we  find  that  her  imagination  passes  rapidly  from  a 
high  and  mighty  person,  to  a  small  and  insignificant  one 
while  she  speaks  the  word  "smart."  It  is  as  if  she  said  to  the 


STRAIGHTNESS  OF  INFLECTION  50 1 

person  spoken  to:  "There  is  the  picture  you  would  draw 
of  you  and  me!"  Very  much  the  same  kind  of  circumflex  is 

heard  when  anyone  exclaims :   W          ^^^^       When  we 

\^tr          ^*C 

hear  that,  we  say  the  mind  of  the  speaker  is  surprised.  If 
we  put  ourselves  into  the  situation  of  the  speaker  and  per- 
form the  act  of  mind  slowly,  we  find  that  the  mind  is 
going  back  and  forth,  back  and  forth,  between  the  thing 
causing  the  surprise  and  the  thing  the  mind  expected  to 
find. 

We  might  pile  example  upon  example,  but  we  have  con- 
sidered enough,  perhaps,  to  prove  the  universal  law  of 
mind,  that  no  matter  what  the  mood  of  the  speaker  may 
be  when  he  speaks  in  a  crooked  or  circumflex  inflection, 

The  action  of  the  mind  which  causes  a  circumflex  in- 
flection is  the  passing  of  the  mind  back  and  forth  be- 
tween two  objects  of  thought  while  one  tone  is  being 
uttered. 

The  keen  thinker  is  apt  to  ask:  "Is  it  advisable  to 
allow  the  mind  to  wander  away  from  the  one  thing  thought 
of  while  the  voice  is  speaking  of  that  one  thing?"  We 
answer  emphatically  that  it  is  not  advisable  unless  there 
is  a  particular  reason  for  the  mind's  wandering  from  the 
thing  spoken  of.  There  is  but  one  good  reason  for  such 
an  act  and  that  is  the  desire  to  contrast  the  thing  spoken 
of  with  something  else,  for  the  purpose  of  making  the 
thing  spoken  of  stand  out  clear  and  emphatic.  This  act 
of  contrasting  is  called  "Antithesis." 

The  one  legitimate  use  of  the  circumflex  inflection, 
then,  is  in  effecting  some  form  of  antithesis. 


502  INFLECTION 

As  we  have  found,  in  the  examples  above,  not  always 
are  both  the  objects  contrasted  mentioned.  Oftentimes 
only  one  is  mentioned  and  the  other  is  implied,  as  when 
the  child  said,  "You  think  you  are  smart!"  Scorn,  irony, 
and  sarcasm  are  usually  spoken  in  this  form.  Sometimes 
neither  of  the  things  contrasted  is  mentioned,  as  when  we 
merely  exclaim  "Ah!" 

But  whatever  form  the  antithesis  may  assume,  it  is 
one  of  the  very  best  and  strongest  means  we  have  for 
giving  our  ideas  emphasis. 

Dr.  S.  S.  Curry  (Lessons  in  Vocal  Expression,  p.  152) 
declares  that  "antithesis  is  the  very  soul  of  oratory."  This 
means  that  speech  attains  its  strongest,  deepest  force  when 
one  thing  is  set  in  such  sharp  contrast  to  another  thing 
that  the  whole  mind  and  soul  of  the  speaker  are  imbued  with 
the  nature  of  this  one  thing.  For  this  reason,  the  speaker 
should  never  attempt  to  use  antithesis  except  when  a  de- 
cided contrast  of  things  is  sensed.  If  we  use  it  over  much, 
then  we  bring  ideas  which  should  remain  unemphatic,  up 
to  the  same  level  of  emphasis  with  the  more  important, 
thereby  destroying  emphasis. 


Practice  in  Speaking  on  Inflection 

Since  Inflection  comprises  several  component  parts,  all 
parts  equally  important,  the  subject  is,  naturally,  some- 
what complicated  to  the  mind  of  the  beginner  when  he  first 
approaches  it.  Since  it  is  the  effective  means  of  emphasis 
that  we  have  found  it  to  be,  the  intending  speaker  has, 
therefore,  a  double  reason  for  putting  forth  a  special  effort 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  DIRECTION       503 

to  make  clear  and  "workable"  all  his  ideas  concerning  In- 
flection before  he  begins  the  experiments  in  Inflection. 
Nothing  will  help  the  student  of  speech  more  in  this 
effort  than  to  determine  to  make  the  subject  perfectly 
clear  to  someone  else.  Therefore,  outline  the  chapter  in 
detail,  put  into  the  outline  as  many  as  possible  of  apt  illustra- 
tions and  applications  from  your  own  work,  and  prepare 
to  discuss  extempore  before  the  class,  any  one  of  the  four 
elements  of  Inflection  or  the  entire  subject  as  a  whole. 


Experiments  to  Develop  Direction  of  Inflection 

I.  First  experiment.  Imagine  that  you  have  lost  ten 
valuable  articles,  in  some  litter  that  lies  before  you,  and  that 
you  are  searching  for  them.  Perform  the  action  of  pick- 
ing each  one  up,  as  you  find  it,  and  of  laying  it  in  another 
place.  Announce  the  number  of  each  one  aloud  as  you 
lay  it  down.  First,  be  so  eager  to  search  out  the  next  one, 
that,  while  you  speak  the  number  of  the  one  you  have  just 
found,  your  mind  has  already  gone  back  to  its  search.  Con- 
tinue this  same  action  of  mind  until  you  have  found  all 
ten  of  the  lost  articles.  If  you  have  performed  the  experi- 
ment successfully,  your  voice  has  had  a  rising  inflection  on 
every  number  as  spoken. 

It  is  well  in  this  experiment,  and  in  all  the  others  in 
Direction  of  Inflection,  to  have  someone  present  who  can 
tell,  by  watching  your  facial  expression,  whether  you  are 
really  imagining  yourself  trying  to  find  the  next  article, 
while  you  speak  each  number,  or  whether  you  are  merely 
making  your  voice  rise  deliberately.  Of  course,  you  can 


504  INFLECTION 

do  this;  but  you  will  get  no  benefit  for  your  speech-work 
unless  you  compel  your  mind  actually  to  anticipate  the  next 
act  while  each  tone  is  being  spoken. 

Repeat  the  experiment.  This  time,  feel  such  complete 
satisfaction  each  time  you  discover  one  of  your  imaginary 
treasures,  that  when  you  lay  it  down  and  announce  its 
number,  your  mind  thinks  of  nothing  but  it,  as  if  you  said 
to  it:  "I've  found  you!"  If  you  have  done  this  success- 
fully, you  have  had  a  decided  falling  inflection  on  every 
tone  spoken. 

Repeat  the  experiment  again.  This  time,  imagine  that 
half  the  things  you  seek  are  much  more  valuable  than  the 
others.  Imagine  that  the  first  one  you  find  is  one  of  the  less 
valuable  ones.  As  you  lay  it  down  and  announce  its  number, 
let  your  mind  be  already  searching  for  the  next  one. 
Imagine  that  the  second  one  you  find  is  one  of  the  more 
valuable  ones.  As  you  lay  it  down  and  announce  its 
number,  let  your  mind  be  thinking  only  of  the  triumph 
of  finding  it.  Continue  in  this  manner  through  the  whole 
ten,  finding  first  a  thing  less  prized,  and  then  one  more 
prized,  and  letting  your  mind  anticipate  as  it  announces 
the  former,  and  stop  completely  on  the  latter  when  its 
number  is  announced.  If  the  mind  does  these  things,  you 
speak  first  in  a  rising  and  then  in  a  falling  inflection. 

Repeat  the  experiment  once  more.  Again  imagine  that 
half  the  things  for  which  you  seek  are  much  more  valuable 
than  the  rest.  This  time,  imagine  that  you  find  first  one  of 
the  more  valued  ones  and  then  one  of  the  others,  and  so 
on  throughout  the  entire  ten.  As  before,  when  the  number 
of  a  favorite  is  announced,  let  the  mind  rest  on  that  thing, 
and,  as  you  speak  the  number  of  a  thing  less  esteemed, 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  DIRECTION       505 

let  the  mind  run  forward  to  find  another.  If  the  mind 
acts  in  these  ways,  you  first  have  a  falling  inflection  and 
then  a  rising  one. 

In  the  four  forms  of  this  experiment,  you  have  not  only 
required  the  mind  to  take  decided  and  independent  atti- 
tudes, which  make  your  inflections  spontaneous,  you  have 
also  changed  the  attitudes  of  your  mind  in  different  ways 
and,  thus,  have  kept  your  inflections  spontaneous. 

2.  For  the  second  experiment,  take  very  distinct  and 
very  different  attitudes  toward  each  single  idea  in  the 
following  lines:  "We  are  perplexed,  but  not  in  despair; 
persecuted,  but  not  forsaken ;  cast  down,  but  not  destroyed." 
First  let  the  mind  refuse  to  give  attention  to  anything 
except  the  idea  back  of  the  word  "we,"  as  if  it  said  "the 
only  thing  I  am  considering  now  is  that  it  is  we  of  whom 
I  speak."  Then  let  the  mind  give  its  exclusive  attention 
to  the  idea  back  of  the  one  word  "are,"  thinking  only  of 
the  fact  that  we  are,  that  is,  we  exist.  When  the  words 
"we"  and  "are"  have  been  pronounced,  each  receiving,  in 
turn,  the  mind's  whole  attention,  then  treat,  in  like  manner, 
the  word  "perplexed,"  and  so  on  throughout  the  sentence. 
If  this  is  done  correctly,  it  will  give  the  voice  a  positive 
falling  inflection  on  every  word. 

Repeat  the  experiment  of  reading  the  quoted  sentence. 
Again  pronounce  each  word  independently,  as  if  the  mind 
were  considering  nothing  but  the  idea  back  of  that  word, 
but,  while  the  voice  is  pronouncing  each  word,  let  the  mind 
be  running  forward  as  if  in  search  of  the  next  thing  to 
be  said.  If  this  is  correctly  done,  the  voice  will  have  a 
distinct  rising  inflection  on  every  single  word  in  the 
sentence. 


506  INFLECTION 

Repeat  the  experiment  again.  This  time  make  the  mind 
stop  and  think  over  the  first  idea  that  is  spoken,  anticipate 
as  the  second  is  spoken,  be  conclusive  on  the  third  idea, 
and  so  on.  This,  of  course,  should  cause  alternating  fall- 
ing and  rising  inflections.  When  the  sentence  has  been 
read  through  in  this  manner,  read  it  again,  making  the 
attitudes  of  your  mind  exactly  opposite  to  what  they  were 
in  the  last  reading  of  these  lines.  That  is,  make  the  mind 
go  forward  while  the  first  idea  is  being  spoken,  stop  con- 
clusively on  the  second  idea,  anticipate  on  the  third,  and 
so  on.  If  this  is  well  done,  it  will  cause  the  voice  to  make 
alternating  inflections,  first  rising  and  then  falling,  on  all 
the  words  in  the  sentence. 

Repeat  once  more  the  experiment  of  reading  the  quoted 
sentence.  This  time,  throw  the  ideas  into  phrases,  as  we 
ordinarily  do.  At  the  end  of  the  first  phrase,  let  the  mind 
stop  conclusively,  as  if  it  intended  to  say  nothing  more; 
then,  at  the  end  of  the  second  phrase,  while  the  voice  is 
pronouncing  the  last  word  in  that  phrase,  let  the  mind  go 
forward  to  consider  other  things  which  might  be  said.  In 
this  same  manner  read  the  whole  sentence.  When  this  has 
been  done,  immediately  read  it  again,  reversing  the  attitudes 
of  your  mind,  anticipating  at  the  end  of  the  first  phrase, 
and  concluding  at  the  end  of  the  second  phrase,  and  so  on. 

3.  Third  experiment.  Now  perform  the  experiment  of 
speaking  sentences  which  not  only  may  be  read  or  spoken 
with  vigorous  anticipation  of  mind  as  every  idea  is  ex- 
pressed, but  which  demand  such  attitudes.  Nothing  better 
exemplifies  this  state  of  mind  than  a  thorough  interroga- 
tion, where  the  speaker's  mind  seems  to  be  anticipating  the 
answer  of  the  listener  as  he  utters  every  word.  This  sen- 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  LENGTH  OF    INFLECTION       507 

tence,  spoken  by  Brutus  (Julius  Casar,  Act  III,  Sc.  2,  lines 
21-22),  is  typical.  "Had  you  rather  Caesar  were  living,  and 
die  all  slaves,  than  that  Caesar  were  dead,  to  live  all  free 
men?"  Speak  it  with  the  strongest  possible  anticipation  of 
mind.  Form  and  read  other  sentences  like  it. 

4.  Fourth  experiment.  Finally  experiment  in  speaking 
sentences  which  demand  the  concluding  attitude  of  mind 
on  every  word.  One  of  the  best  examples  of  this  is  the 
firm,  direct,  and  noble  command.  Speak  Longfellow's  lines 
(from  The  Building  of  the  Ship)  :  'Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O 
Ship  of  State!  sail  on,  O  Union,  strong  and  great!"  and 
other  sentences  of  like  directness. 


Experiments  to  Develop  Length  of  Inflection 

In  our  study  of  Length  of  Inflection,  we  found  that 
inflection  has  its  best  length  when  the  mind  of  the  speaker 
finds  such  decided  distinction  in  the  things  spoken  of,  and 
those  things  mean  so  much  to  the  speaker,  that  he  is  de- 
termined to  make  them  mean  as  much  to  the  listener. 

I.  For  the  first  experiment  to  develop  Length  of  Inflec- 
tion, use  any  talk  you  have  used  for  any  previous  ex- 
periment, in  which  the  things  spoken  of  were  of  such 
importance  to  yourself  that  you  were  determined  to  make 
your  audience  realize  their  importance.  As  you  now 
present  this  talk  to  an  imaginary  audience,  try  to  feel  that 
your  whole  success  in  the  effort  depends  on  the  length 
of  your  inflections.  Realize  that,  to  be  effective,  the  in- 
flections must  be  spontaneous,  and  that  they  can  be  spon- 
taneous only  when  your  conceptions  of  the  things  dis- 


5O8  INFLECTION 

cussed  are  so  clear  and  full  and  your  attitudes  toward 
those  things  so  strong,  that  your  own  feelings  are  stirred 
as  you  hope  to  stir  those  of  your  audience.  To  accom- 
plish these  results,  you  must  make  the  pauses  long  enough 
and  vigorous  enough  to  give  your  mind  great  changes  in  its 
attitudes  (and  consequent  changes  in  pitch)  so  that  great 
length  of  inflection  is  merely  the  letting  go  of  your  pent-up 
energy. 

2.  Experiment  in  like  manner  in  reading  and  reciting 
these  words  of  Brutus  (from  Julius  Casar,  Act  IV,  Sc.  3, 
by  Shakespeare) : 

Must  I  give  way  and  room  to  your  rash  choler?  Shall  I 
be  frighted  when  a  madman  stares?  .  .  .  Must  I  budge?  Must 
I  observe  you?  Must  I  stand  and  crouch  under  your  testy 
humor?  By  the  gods,  you  shall  digest  the  venom  of  your 
spleen,  though  it  do  split  you;  for,  from  this  day  forth,  I'll 
use  you  for  my  mirth,  yea  for  my  laughter,  when  you  are 
waspish. 

The  whole  of  this  famous  quarrel  between  Brutus  and 
his  brother  Cassius,  from  which  these  lines  come,  may 
well  be  used. 

Use  also  these  lines  (from  Give  a  Rouse,  by  Browning) : 

King  Charles,  and  who'll  do  him  right  now?  King  Charles, 
and  who's  ripe  for  fight  now?  Give  a  rouse:  here's  in  hell's 
despite  now,  King  Charles! 

Also  these  lines  (from  The  Rising  of  '76,  by  T.  B. 
Read) : 

Who  dares — this  was  the  patriot's  cry,  as  striding  from  his 
desk  he  came — Come  out  with  me  in  Freedom's  name,  for  her 
to  live,  for  her  to  die!  A  hundred  hands  flung  up  reply,  a 
hundred  voices  answered  "I"  ! 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  ABRUPTNESS  OF  INFLECTION     509 

If  other  examples  are  desired  on  which  to  experiment  in 
Length  of  Inflection,  use  the  first  stanza  from  The  Broom- 
stick Train,  by  Holmes ;  the  four  lines  beginning  with  line 
159,  from  King  Robert  of  Sicily  in  Tales  of  a  Wayside 
Inn,  by  Longfellow;  The  Call  to  Arms,  by  Patrick  Henry; 
The  Supposed  Speech  of  John  Adams,  by  Daniel  Webster; 
and  the  soliloquy  of  Hamlet  (Hamlet,  Act  I,  Sc.  2,  be- 
ginning with  line  129). 

Experiments  to  Develop  Abruptness  of  Inflection 

Since  the  degree  of  abruptness  is  proportionate  to  the 
degree  of  vigor  in  the  mind  of  the  speaker,  experiments  to 
develop  this  mode  of  emphasis,  will  bring  the  best  results 
if  they  are  performed  with  the  mind  at  its  highest  degree 
of  vigor  and  quickness. 

I.  First  experiment.  Imagine  yourself  coaching  a 
player  in  a  game  of  baseball.  Imagine  that  it  is  the  last 
half  of  the  ninth  inning,  that  the  score  is  tied,  that  two 
players  are  already  out,  and  that  two  men  are  now  on  bases. 
Imagine  that  these  men  are  on  first  and  second  bases,  and 
that  you  are  at  third  base,  coaching  the  man  at  second  base. 
Let  this  man  be  a  favorite  of  yours  and  realize  how  much 
he  is  depending  on  the  quickness  and  certainty  of  your 
judgment,  to  help  him  win  the  game.  Feel  that  it  means 
more  to  you,  to  have  him  win  this  game,  than  anything 
has  meant  for  years.  Realize  that  every  word  you  say  to 
him  must  reach  him  instantly  and  must  carry  the  vigor  to 
make  him  act  on  the  instant.  Repeat  this  experiment  until 
your  every  word  is  spoken  with  an  intense  and  telling 
abruptness  of  inflection. 


510  INFLECTION 

2.  Second  experiment.  Further  develop  your  ability  to 
use  the  abrupt  inflection  as  a  strong  means  of  emphasis,  by 
reading  and  reciting  the  following:  (The  first  excerpt  is 
from  Hamlet,  Act  I,  Sc.  4,  lines  84-86,  inclusive) :  "Still 
am  I  called. — Unhand  me,  gentlemen !  By  heaven,  I'll  make 
a  ghost  of  him  that  lets  me!  I  say,  away!"  (The  second 
excerpt  is  from  King  Lear,  Act  III,  Sc.  2)  : 

Blow,  winds,  and  crack  your  cheeks !  rage !  blow !  You 
cataracts  and  hurricanoes,  spout  till  you  have  drench'd  our 
steeples,  drown'd  the  cocks !  You  sulphurous  and  thought- 
executing  fires,  vaunt-couriers  of  oak-cleaving  thunderbolts, 
singe  my  white  head!  And  thou,  all-shaking  thunder,  strike 
flat  the  thick  rotundity  o'  the  world ! 

Woe  to  the  hands  that  shed  this  costly  blood !  Over  thy 
wounds  now  do  I  prophesy,  which  like  dumb  mouths  do  ope 
their  ruby  lips  to  beg  the  voice  and  utterance  of  my  tongue: 
a  curse  shall  light  upon  the  limbs  of  men;  domestic  fury  and 
fierce  civil  strife  shall  cumber  all  the  parts  of  Italy  .  .  .  and 
Caesar's  spirit,  ranging  for  revenge,  with  Ate  by  his  side,  come 
hot  from  hell,  shall,  in  these  confines,  with  a  monarch's  voice, 
cry  "Havoc!"  and  let  slip  the  dogs  of  war;  that  this  foul 
deed  shall  smell  above  the  earth  with  carrion  men  groaning 
for  burial.  (Julius  Caesar,  Act  III,  Sc.  I.) 

Awake,  awake!  Ring  the  alarum-bell. — Murther  and  trea- 
son!— Banquo  and  Donalbain  ! — Malcolm!  awake!  Shake  off 
this  downy  sleep,  death's  counterfeit,  and  look  on  death  itself ! 
up,  up,  and  see  the  great  doom's  image ! — Malcolm !  Banquo ! 
as  from  your  graves  rise  up,  and  walk  like  sprites,  to  coun- 
tenance this  horror!  Ring  the  bell!  (Macbeth,  Act  II,  Sc.  3). 

Another  good  selection  for  developing  this  mode  of  em- 
phasis, is  found  in  The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish,  by 
Longfellow,  lines  413-423,  inclusive. 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  STRAIGHTNESS  OF  INFLECTION  511 

Experiments  to  Develop  Straightness  of  inflection 

We  have  found  that  a  circumflex  is,  in  a  sense,  the  very 
opposite  from  a  straight  inflection.  The  fundamental  cause 
of  each  is  the  degree  of  Straightness  with  which  the  mind 
moves  during  the  utterance  of  a  tone.  A  straight  in- 
flection is  produced  when  the  mind  thinks  of  nothing  but 
the  thing  that  moment  spoken  of,  while  a  circumflex  in- 
flection is  produced  when  the  mind  travels  back  and  forth 
between  the  thing  that  moment  spoken  of,  and  something 
else.  It  is  clear,  therefore,  that  separate  experiments  are 
needed  to  develop  these  two  extremes  of  Straightness  of 
Inflection. 

Experiments  i  and  2  are  designed  to  develop  a  straight 
inflection.  Remember  that  a  straight  inflection  is  always 
desirable  except  where  some  form  of  antithesis  is  expressed. 

1.  First  experiment.    Prepare  a  short  talk  on  some  sim- 
ple theme  into  which  you  can  throw  your  vigor  of  mind. 
Let  your  treatment  of  the  theme  be  of  such  a  nature,  that 
you  present  one  single,  brief  point  to  the  audience  at  a  time, 
and  "drive  home"  that  point.    Keep  in  mind  the  motto  of 
St.  Paul :    "This  one  thing  I  do."    Remember  that  the  best 
means  you  have  for  keeping  the  mind  of  the  audience  abso- 
lutely fixed  on  each  point  as  you  present  it,  is  an  absolutely 
straight  inflection  of  your  voice.    Realize  that  you  can  have 
such  Straightness  of  inflection  only  when  you  keep  your 
own  mind  firmly  fixed  on  each  thought  as  you  present  it. 

2.  Second  experiment.     Vigorous  narrative  description, 
simply  and  directly  told,  offers  one  of  the  best  opportunities 
for  an  emphatic  use  of  the  straight  inflection.     Experi- 


512  INFLECTION 

ment  in  reading  and  reciting  the  following  translation  of 
Belshazzar,  by  Heine: 

Midnight  comes  slowly  sweeping  on ;  in  silent  rest  lies  Baby- 
lon ;  but  in  the  royal  castle  high,  red  torches  gleam  and  courtiers 
cry.  Belshazzar  there,  in  kingly  hall,  is  holding  kingly  festival. 
The  vassals  sit  in  glittering  line,  and  empty  the  goblets  with 
glowing  wine.  The  goblets  rattle,  the  choruses  swell;  and  it 
pleases  the  stiff-necked  monarch  well.  And  he  brazenly  boasts, 
blaspheming  the  while  the  servile  courtiers  cheer  and  smile. 
Belshazzar  drains  the  sacred  cup,  and  foaming  cries,  as  he  drinks 
it  up,  "Jehovah,  eternal  scorn  I  own  to  thee.  I  am  monarch 
of  Babylon." 

Scarce  has  the  terrible  blasphemy  rolled  from  his  lips,  ere 
the  monarch  at  heart  is  cold.  The  yelling  laughter  is  hushed, 
and  all  is  still  as  death  in  the  royal  hall.  And  see !  and  see ! 
on  the  white  wall  high,  the  form  of  a  hand  goes  slowly  by, 
and  writes — and  writes,  on  the  broad  wall  white,  letters  of  fire, 
and  departs  from  sight.  Pale  as  death,  with  a  steady  stare, 
and  with  trembling  knees',  the  king  sits  there.  The  horde  of 
slaves  sit,  shuddering  chill ;  no  word  they  speak,  but  are  death- 
like and  still. 

The  Magians  come,  but  of  them  all,  not  one  can  read  the 
script  on  the  wall.  But  that  same  night,  in  all  his  pride,  by 
the  hand  of  his  servants,  Belshazzar  died. 

Also  use  such  vigorous  passages  as  the  one  from  Julius 
Casar,  Act  III,  Scene  I,  quoted  on  page  510. 

The  next  experiments  are  designed  to  develop  tht 
circumflex  inflection. 

i.  Perform  the  experiment  of  describing  orally  the  char- 
acteristics of  two  persons,  one  of  whom  you  like  very  much, 
and  the  other  you  dislike  very  much.  Name  an  admirable 
trait  of  the  one,  and  immediately  contrast  it  with  a  de- 
testable trait  of  the  other,  and  so  on.  Imagine  that  you 
are  now  watching  the  characteristics  of  dress  and  move- 
ment and  expression  of  face  and  voice  which  seem  to  make 
you  admire  the  one  and  dislike  the  other.  Imagine  that 


EXPERIMENTS  IN  STRAIGHTNESS  OF  INFLECTION  513 

now,  while  you  watch  them,  you  again  see  each  one  doing 
some  of  those  things  which  have  formerly  excited  in  you 
so  strong  a  feeling  toward  him.  Form  such  clear  con- 
ceptions and  take  such  strong  attitudes  toward  each  point, 
that  you  feel  you  must  cause  the  one  who  hears  you  to 
realize  how  unusual  each  characteristic  is.  Feel  as  if  you 
were  piling  up  material  things  and  were  determined  to  make 
the  hearer  realize  how  each  pile  is  mounting  higher  and 
higher.  Each  time  you  turn  again  to  either  of  the  persons 
described,  think  again  of  the  things  you  have  already  said 
about  him,  and  say:  "He  is  not  only  this  and  this"  (nam- 
ing the  points  previously  named  and  taking  time  to  realize 
how  each  point  adds  to  the  character),  "but  he  is  also 
this,"  (naming  your  new  point). 

2.  Second  experiment.    Describe  orally  a  scene  in  which 
there  are  many  objects  of  different  sizes,  shapes,  colors 
and  values.    Imagine  that  you  are  in  a  contest  to  determine 
who  can  describe  the  greatest  number  and  the  greatest 
variety  of  things.    Feel  that,  to  win  this  contest,  you  must 
make  the  judges  realize  two  things  every  time  you  speak 
of  a  new  object.    First,  you  must  make  them  realize  that 
you   have   added   one   more   to   your   list;   and,   secondly 
you  must  make  them  realize  that  this  last  thing  described 
is  remarkably  different  from  other  things  you  have  men- 
tioned.   Realize  that  the  only  means  you  have  by  which  to 
cause  the  judges  to  feel  these  things,  is  to  enlarge  your  own 
conceptions  of  the  difference,  so  much,  and  give  yourself 
up  so  fully  to  feeling  the  difference  between  different  things 
described,  that  your  inflection  will  show  the  difference. 

3.  Third  experiment.    To  further  develop  the  ability  to 
use  circumflex  inflection  in  your  speaking  and  reading,  ex- 
periment in  reading  and  reciting  the  following: 


514  INFLECTION 

Give  thy  thoughts  no  tongue,  not  any  unproportioned  thought 
his  act.  Be  thou  familiar,  but  by  no  means  vulgar.  Those 
friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried,  grapple  them  to 
thy  soul  with  hoops  of  steel;  but  do  not  dull  thy  palm  with 
entertainment  of  each  new-hatched,  unfleg'd  comrade.  Beware 
of  entrance  to  a  quarrel,  but,  being  in,  bear  it  that  the  opposed 
may  beware  of  thee.  Give  every  man  thy  ear,  but  few  thy 
voice;  take  each  man's  censure,  but  reserve  thy  judgment. 
Costly  thy  habit  as  thy  purse  can  buy,  but  not  expressed  in 
fancy;  rich,  not  gaudy;  for  the  apparel  oft  proclaims  the  man, 
and  they  in  France,  of  the  best  rank  and  station,  are  most 
select  and  generous,  chief  in  that.  Neither  a  borrower  nor 
a  lender  be;  for  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend,  and 
borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry.  This  above  all:  to 
thine  own  self  be  true,  and  it  must  follow  as  the  night  the 
day,  thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man.  (Hamlet,  Act  I, 
Sc.  3). 

If  there  be  any  of  this  assembly,  any  dear  friend  of  Caesar's, 
to  him  I  say  that  Brutus'  love  to  Caesar  was  no  less  than  his. 
If  then  that  friend  demand  why  Brutus  rose  against  Caesar, 
this  is  my  answer — not  that  I  loved  Caesar  less,  but  that  I 
loved  Rome  more.  Had  you  rather  Caesar  were  living,  and 
die  all  slaves,  than  that  Caesar  were  dead,  to  live  all  freemen? 
As  Caesar  loved  me,  I  weep  for  him;  as  he  was  fortunate, 
I  rejoice  at  it;  as  he  was  valiant,  I  honor  him;  but  as  he  was 
ambitious,  I  slew  him.  There  is  tears  for  his  love,  joy  for 
his  fortune,  honor  for  his  valour,  and  death  for  his  ambition. 
(Julius  Caesar,  Act.  Ill,  Sc.  2). 

You  were  assembly  clerk,  I  was  a  speaker;  you  acted  third 
parts,  I  heard  you;  you  broke  down,  and  I  hissed;  you  have 
worked  as  a  statesman  for  the  enemy,  I  for  my  country.  (From 
On  the  Crown,  by  Demosthenes.) 

Kings  will  be  tyrants  from  policy  when  subjects  are  rebels 
from  principle.  (Burke.) 

It  can  never  be  necessary  to  do  what  is  not  honorable.  .  .  . 
Why  should  it  be  ?  What  gain  would  you  get  ?  Money  ?  Money 
that  comes  from  a  tainted  source  is  a  degradation.  (From 
An  Ideal  Husband,  by  Wilde.) 

This  last  excerpt  represents  what  is  called  Implied  Anti- 
thesis, in  which  a  part  of  the  things  contrasted  are  not 


STRAIGHTNESS   OF  INFLECTION  515 

mentioned  but  left  to  be  inferred  and  filled  in  by  the  mind 
of  the  listener.  This  requires  the  very  strongest  use  of 
the  circumflex;  for,  on  the  few  words  spoken,  the  speaker 
must  throw  sufficient  emphasis  to  make  up  for  the  words 
not  spoken. 

Additional  material  for  developing  the  circumflex  may 
be  found  in  the  last  eight  stanzas  of  The  C  our  tin*  from 
the  Biglow  Papers,  by  Lowell,  and  stanzas  5  to  10,  in- 
clusive, from  Contentment,  by  Holmes. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

SUBORDINATION 

The  Outgrowth  of  Former  Modes  Studied 

WE  have  now  discovered  the  sources  of  three  important 
modes  of  emphasis,  Pause,  Change  of  Pitch,  and  Inflec- 
tion. We  have  learned  that  Change  of  Pitch  is  the  natural 
outgrowth  of  good  pausing,  and  that  Inflection  grows  out 
of  Change  of  Pitch  as  naturally  as  Change  of  Pitch  grows 
out  of  Pause. 

There  are  other  modes  of  emphasis  to  slight  which  is 
to  mar  the  effect  of  the  three  already  studied.  Prominent 
among  these  is  Subordination.  Subordination,  in  a  sense, 
may  be  said  to  be  a  combination  of  Change  of  Pitch  and 
Inflection.  In  a  truer  sense,  it  is  an  outgrowth  of  these 
two  modes  of  emphasis,  just  as  they  in  turn  are  the  out- 
growth of  pausing. 


SUBORDINATION,  NOT  SUBJUGATION 

We  shall  better  understand  the  nature  of  this  mode  of 
emphasis  by  finding  first  what  it  is  not.  It  is  not  sub- 
jugation. Students  of  Latin  recall  the  origin  of  the  word 
"subjugation."  When  Roman  soldiers  conquered  in  battle, 


SUBORDINATION,  NOT  SUBJUGATION          517 

they  set  up  two  spears  crossing  each  other.  They  called 
the  pointed  arch  thus  formed,  jugum,  a  yoke.  They  then 
compelled  those  they  had  conquered;  to  pass  sub-jugum, 
under  the  yoke,  as  an  acknowledgment  of  the  fact  that 
they  were  subject  to  the  will  of  theii  Roman  conquerors. 
From  this  fact,  we  have  derived  the  word  subjugation 
which  implies  the  act  of  placing  something  under  some- 
thing else  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  the  subjugated  thing 
down. 

If  we  depend  on  dictionary  definition  alone,  we  shall 
find  a  very  similar  meaning  for  the  word  subordination. 
It  does  mean  the  act  of  placing  a  thing  in  a  lower  rank 
or  order.  But  if  we  investigate  the  usage  of  this  word  in 
the  world  about  us,  we  find  that  a  person  or  thing  is  well 
subordinated  when  that  person  or  thing  is  so  placed  that 
all  work  performed  in  that  position  leads  up  to  and  pre- 
pares for  the  work  to  be  done  by  the  person  or  thing  next 
higher  up.  For  example,  take  the  subordinated  system  of 
labor  employed  on  a  railroad.  The  section  hand  is  at  the 
bottom  of  the  scale.  But  he  is  not  placed  there  merely 
to  keep  him  down.  Those  in  charge  of  the  road  have  a 
very  different  thought  in  mind  when  they  place  him  there. 
Every  section  hand  must  so  prepare  his  little  piece  of  road 
that  it  is  ready  for  the  section-boss.  Every  section-boss 
must  so  prepare  his  section  of  the  road  that  it  is  ready  for 
the  road  inspector.  Every  inspector  must  "hand  over"  a 
good  road  to  the  superintendent,  who  in  turn  must  deliver 
the  road  and  equipment  in  his  charge,  to  the  president. 
The  entire  plan  is  a  building  up,  each  part  growing  into 
something  larger  and  higher,  each  part  reaching  up  to 
support  the  part  above  it. 


5l8  SUBORDINATION 

This  is  the  meaning  the  word  subordination  should  have 
in  speech.  The  less  important  parts  are  not  to  be  pushed 
into  the  background  as  children  are  sent  out  of  the  way. 
The  smaller  things  talked  about  are  rather  to  be  placed  one 
on  another  that  the  heights  may  be  reached. 

If  the  speaker's  mind  ana  voice  be  trained  to  subordinate 
in  this  manner,  two  large  faults  of  emphasis  will  be  avoided 
which  are  always  present  when  a  speaker  is  content  merely 
to  push  into  the  background  all  minor  things  discussed. 
These  two  faults  are  a  jerkiness  and  a  parenthetical  manner 
of  speaking.  We  have  all  been  tortured  many  times  by 
having  to  listen  to  the  jerky  speaker.  He  is  the  man  who 
has  caught  the  idea  that  a  few  emphatic  words  are  to  be 
pushed  up  into  great  prominence  and  all  the  rest  are  to 
be  put  down  almost  out  of  hearing.  If  such  a  man  speak 
the  simple  sentence:  "I  say  I  will  not,"  he  will  probably 
mumble  the  first  four  words  in  a  low  pitch.  When  he 
comes  to  the  last  word,  his  voice  will  take  the  wild  leap 
of  a  whole  octave  upward  and  "not"  will  be  spoken  with 
an  explosion  that  almost  bursts  the  ears  of  the  audience. 
This  method  of  subordinating — or  rather  subjugating — 
gives  a  speech  a  monotony  that  is  almost  unbearable. 

The  parenthetical  fault  is  less  tiresome  than  jerkiness, 
but  is  also  monotonous.  The  speaker  who  employs  this 
method,  seems  to  divide  his  ideas  into  two  distinct  classes, 
which  we  might  call  the  serving  class  and  the  aristocracy. 
Between  these  two  classes  he  has  as  wide  a  "gulf"  as  the 
man  with  the  jerky  style  has  between  his  emphatic  words 
and  the  rest.  The  principal  difference  between  these  two 
speakers  is  that  the  man  who  places  all  less  important 
ideas  in  parentheses,  seems  to  subordinate,  after  a  fashion, 


THE  SOURCES  OF  SUBORDINATION  519 

each  of  his  two  classes  of  ideas.  In  other  words,  he  seems 
to  have  two  different  systems  of  subordination  on  two 
different  planes  of  pitch.  His  speech  is  more  smooth  than 
that  of  the  jerky  speaker,  but  he  is  "carrying  water  on  both 
shoulders."  He  is  performing  two  tasks  neither  of  which 
helps  the  other.  He  feels  no  great  central  force  in  his 
subject  to  which  all  his  smaller  ideas  must  contribute.  As 
a  result  the  listeners  are  not  led  through  the  smaller  ideas 
up  to  great  heights  of  thought  and  feeling.  To  accomplish 
this  leading  up  through  the  lesser  to  the  greater  is  the  func- 
tion of  subordination. 


THE   SOURCES  OF  SUBORDINATION 

Subordination  is  different  from  both  Change  of  Pitch 
and  Inflection.  It  is  something  more  than  a  combination 
of  these  two.  A  speaker  may  employ  changes  of  pitch  and 
inflections  throughout  his  speech,  yet,  if  the  changes  of 
pitch  and  inflections  are  not  aided  by  the  thing  we  now 
call  Subordination,  they  will  all  be  more  or  less  on  the 
same  plane  of  pitch  and  monotony  will  be  the  result.  In 
other  words,  both  these  modes  of  emphasis,  necessary  as 
they  are,  are  very  apt  to  become  useless  and  unemphatic 
unless  they  culminate  in  Subordination  and  are  controlled 
by  it. 

What,  then,  is  the  source  of  this  great  means  of  em- 
phasis? The  first  thing  necessary  is  to  build  a  clear  and 
large  conception  of  the  whole  theme  to  be  presented,  that 
the  speaker's  mind  may  comprehend  the  final  height  to 
which  it  is  to  climb.  The  second  necessary  step  is  for  the 


520  SUBORDINATION 

mind  of  the  speaker  to  form  a  clear  and  large  conception 
of  each  paragraph  of  his  theme  (if  his  speech  have  para- 
graphs), that  he  may  realize  how  far  toward  the  final 
height  his  first  main  thought  leads  him.  The  third  neces- 
sary step  is  a  clear  and  large  conception  of  each  sentence 
in  the  first  paragraph,  that  the  speaker  may  realize  how 
far  toward  the  final  height  of  the  first  paragraph,  the 
thought  in  the  first  sentence  leads  him.  When  the  speaker 
has  taken  these  three  steps,  he  has  laid  the  foundation  and 
is  now  ready  to  begin  the  actual  building  of  subordination. 
The  mind  now  begins  a  vigorous  analysis  of  the  prin- 
cipal thing  to  be  spoken  of  in  the  first  sentence,  and,  as 
il  discovers  one  characteristic  after  another  of  that  object, 
it  feels  a  fuller  sense  of  mastery  of  the  thing  con- 
templated. With  this  feeling  comes  the  kindred  one  of 
delight  in  "handing  over"  to  the  listener  more  and  more 
of  the  thing  contemplated.  This  last  conception  is  the  one 
that  actually  builds  subordination  in  the  speaker's  voice. 
It  is  as  if  the  speaker  had  caught  the  idea  of  picking  up, 
piece  by  piece,  the  thing  before  his  mind  and  putting  it 
together  again  in  the  listener's  hands.  As  piece  rises  upon 
piece,  the  speaker's  mind  and  voice  mount  higher  and 
higher,  till  the  central  and  concluding  piece,  the  central 
idea  of  the  sentence,  is  delivered  to  the  listener,  when  the 
speaker's  mind  and  voice  climax  the  effort  in  one  emphatic 
stroke. 


THE   PHYSICAL  FORM   OF   SUBORDINATION 

If  every  phrase  has  its  own  center  toward  which  all 
preceding  words  rise  and  from  which  all  following  words 


PHYSICAL  FORM  OF  SUBORDINATION          521 

of  that  same  phrase  descend,  then  Subordination  must  turn 
a  speech  into  a  series  of  hills  and  valleys.  This  is  what 
it  may  be  said  to  do.  If  we  attempt  to  put  on  paper  the 
action  of  the  voice  in  subordinating  phrases,  it  will  appear 
thus: 


/\/\ 


The  sentence,  of  course,  has  its  own  highest  point  just 
as  the  phrase  has,  and  the  paragraph  has  its  great  height 
of  importance  just  as  each  sentence  has.  As  the  mind  of 
the  speaker  approaches  the  highest  thought  in  a  paragraph, 
it  begins  to  rise  as  much  higher  than  the  small  "hill-top" 
of  phrases  and  sentences  as  these  are  higher  than  the 
"valley"  between  them.  If  we  represent  on  paper  the 
subordination  of  a  paragraph,  the  vocal  movements  will 
be  like  this: 


It  will  be  seen  that  the  outline  resembles  a  cross-section 
map  of  a  mountain-chain.  The  small  foot-hills  begin  at 
our  left  and  grow  higher  and  higher  till  they  end  in  the 
highest  ridge  of  the  range. 

The  speaker  will  find  this  figure  of  hills  and  mountains 
a  helpful  one.  If,  at  the  beginning  of  every  pagaraph,  he 
feels  as  if  he  were  starting  on  a  splendid  mountain  climb, 
if  he  feels  that  every  phrase  is  a  hill  which  he  must  o'er-top, 
if  he  feels  that  from  each  hill  he  must  descend  into  a  valley 
before  he  can  reach  the  next  hill,  and  if  he  then  feels  that 


522  SUBORDINATION 

each  succeeding  hill  lifts  him  to  a  larger,  finer  view  till 
finally  he  stands  upon  the  highest  point,  he  is  sure  to  be 
lifted  to  a  more  and  more  lively  interest  in  what  he  has 
to  say  and  is  sure  to  lift  his  audience  with  him. 


HOW  SUBORDINATION  AIDS   THE  AUDIENCE 

It  is  interesting  to  note  how  Subordination  acts  upon  the 
minds  and  feelings  of  an  audience.  The  first  effect  is  an 
indirect  one  accomplished  through  language  itself.  Of  the 
four  modes  of  emphasis  thus  far  studied,  it  is  Subordina- 
tion that  gives  beauty  to  spoken  language.  Each  of  the 
other  three  modes,  Pause,  Change  of  Pitch,  and  Inflection, 
gives  vigor  to  spoken  language,  but  Subordination  gives 
beauty  as  well  as  force. 

It  does  this,  first,  by  producing  the  best  possible  variety 
of  sounds.  But  this  is  not  enough  to  give  speech  a  lasting 
beauty.  There  is  a  common  belief  that  variety  itself  is 
satisfying.  This  is  not  true.  Who  is  less  happy,  who 
sees  less  beauty  in  anything  and  everything  than  the  person 
who  has  traveled  everywhere  and  seen  everything,  if  he 
has  done  this  with  no  purpose  in  view  except  to  seek 
variety.  To  be  satisfying,  to  lend  real  beauty,  variety  must 
link  things  together  in  such  manner  that  each  thing  con- 
templated will  prepare  the  mind  of  the  observer  to  desire 
and  even  to  seek  and  receive  the  next  thing  to  be  con- 
sidered. This  is  just  the  kind  of  "linking  together"  which 
true  subordination  does.  Dr.  S.  S.  Curry  (Lessons  in 
Vocal  Expression,  p.  20)  says  that  through  subordination 
"the  listening  mind  is  awakened  to  respond  creatively  to  the 


HOW  SUBORDINATION  AIDS  THE  AUDIENCE    523 

successive  scenes  and  situations"  Think  what  that  means ! 
If  subordination  can  cause  the  listener  to  think  creatively, 
then,  first,  it  can  insure  the  speaker  the  perfect  attention 
of  the  audience  to  what  he  is  at  that  moment  saying; 
secondly,  it  causes  the  minds  of  the  audience  to  anticipate 
the  next  thing  about  to  be  said  by  the  speaker,  hence,  makes 
them  ready  to  welcome  it  when  said. 

This  act  of  causing  the  audience  to  anticipate  is  per- 
formed in  two  ways  at  once.  Subordination  acts  upon  the 
ear  as  well  as  upon  the  mind  of  the  audience.  The  effect 
upon  the  ear  you  have  probably  noted  most  often  when 
listening  to  music.  Who  has  not  often,  when  listening  to 
music  he  had  never  before  heard,  found  himself  fancying 
what  the  next  "run"  would  be?  And  who  has  not  been 
gratified  to  discover  that  the  "run"  sounded  just  as  he 
had  fancied  it  would?  Someone  says:  "Oh,  but  that  is 
because  music  has  a  melody  which  speech  has  not."  Be 
not  deceived.  Speech  has  melody  as  truly  as  music  has, 
and  one  no  less  powerful  to  influence  the  listener.  Recall 
some  speeches  which  have  pleased  you.  Do  you  not  re- 
member certain  places  in  those  speeches  where  you  found 
your  mind  running  on  ahead  of  the  speaker,  thinking 
things  which  the  speaker  presently  said,  things  which 
pleased  you  more  than  anything  else  he  did  say?  You 
found  yourself  saying,  "He  is  right.  That's  the  very  thing 
I  was  thinking  myself,"  didn't  you?  These  were  not  mere 
accidents. 

Subordination  includes  the  logical  way  ideas  are  put 
together  as  well  as  the  melody  of  speech. 

The  logical  way  in  which  the  speaker  had  subordinated 
his  thoughts,  making  the  small  ones  lead  up  to  larger  ones, 


524  SUBORDINATION 

together  with  the  melody  of  words  which  this  process 
created,  had  made  for  you  as  well  as  for  the  speaker,  a 
straight  road  to  the  coming  thought.  You  traveled  the 
same  road  with  the  speaker  and  saw  the  road  before  you, 
a  thing  absolutely  necessary  if  a  speech  is  to  reach  its 
highest  efficiency. 


LIMITATIONS  OF   SUBORDINATION 

In  a  lecture  to  a  class  the  writer  had  one  day  just  ex- 
pressed the  last  thought,  stated  above,  when  a  mature  stu- 
dent showed  how  badly  the  thought  may  be  misunderstood. 
He  said :  "Well,  this  seeing  the  road  ahead  of  the  speaker, 
is  possible  or  even  desirable  only  to  a  very  limited  extent, 
isn't  it?  The  speaker  must  have  new  thoughts  for  the 
audience  or  he  will  not  interest  them,  will  he?  And  if  he 
is  about  to  utter  a  thought  that  is  new  to  the  audience, 
how  can  they  perceive  that  thought  before  it  is  uttered?" 
That  sounds  reasonable,  doesn't  it  ?  The  student's  difficulty 
arose  from  the  fact  that  he  did  not  understand  what  is 
meant  by  "seeing  the  road"  ahead  of  the  speaker.  It  re- 
quired but  a  moment  to  satisfy  that  student  that  the 
physical  form  of  subordination  may  easily  be  anticipated 
by  the  listener.  From  examples  put  before  him,  he  saw 
that  when  a  speaker  subordinates  well,  the  sounds  of  his 
voice  form  a  pleasing  melody.  He  saw  furthermore  that 
in  this  melody  certain  combinations  of  rise  and  fall  recur 
with  such  regularity  that  the  ear  of  the  listener  soon  learns 
to  build  them.  A  part  of  the  difficulty  which  confronted 
the  student  was  now  removed. 


LIMITATIONS  OF  SUBORDINATION  525 

We  had  also  declared  that  the  thoughts  of  the  speaker 
might  be  anticipated.  We  had  proved  by  the  testimony  of 
the  class  that  such  anticipating  is  often  done.  The  student 
who  had  challenged  this  claim  admitted  that  he  had  occa- 
sionally had  such  an  experience,  but  could  not  believe 
that  such  results  could  be  depended  upon.  His  second  diffi- 
culty lay  in  the  ambiguous  use  of  the  word  "thought."  That 
word  may  mean  the  attitude  of  the  speaker's  mind  toward 
anything  about  which  he  is  speaking  or  it  may  mean  the 
thing  itself  about  which  he  is  speaking. 

If  we  use  the  word  "thought"  in  the  latter  sense,  then 
certainly  the  speaker  cannot  so  subordinate  as  to  cause 
the  audience  to  anticipate  his  thoughts.  The  listener  can- 
not be  expected  to  foretell  the  next  illustration  the  speaker 
will  use,  yet  that  is  just  what  such  a  claim  for  subordina- 
tion would  mean.  But  it  certainly  requires  no  proof  to 
establish  the  fact  that,  when  the  speaker  is  subordinating 
well,  the  listener  can  know  beforehand  the  attitude  the 
speaker's  mind  will  have  toward  the  next  thing  to  be 
spoken  of.  It  is  also  evident  that  when  the  small  thoughts 
of  the  speaker  are  all  pointing  toward  and  leading  up  to 
the  main,  central  thought,  then  the  nature  of  the  next 
thought  to  be  uttered  may  be  foreseen  by  the  audience. 
The  relation  of  that  thought  to  the  thoughts  just  preceding 
may  also  be  anticipated  by  the  listeners.  Then,  if  subor- 
dinating can  enable  the  audience  to  foretell  the  nature  of 
the  coming  thought,  its  relation  to  what  has  already  been 
said,  the  speaker's  attitude  toward  the  coming  thought, 
and  even  the  melody  of  voice  that  thought  will  produce 
when  spoken,  surely  the  act  of  subordinating  is  a  powerful 
means  of  bringing  the  audience  into  harmony  with  the 


526  SUBORDINATION 

speaker.  Surely  the  claim  is  justified,  that  subordination 
does  cause  the  audience  to  think  creatively,  or  to  re-create 
the  theme  with  the  speaker  while  he  is  speaking. 


DEVELOPMENT   OF   SUBORDINATION 

The  student  of  speech  should  undertake  the  development 
of  subordination  with  great  care.  A  thorough  mastery  of 
it  will  show  more  artistic  strength  than  most  anything  else 
to  which  the  speaker  or  reader  may  turn  his  attention. 
Neglect  of  it  is  likely  to  leave  him  a  very  ordinary 
speaker,  with  no  real  command  over  his  audience,  no  matter 
how  much  attention  he  has  paid  to  other  details.  That  we 
may  begin  this  development  with  a  clear  understanding  of 
the  task  before  us,  let  us  observe  the  following  points  for 
our  guidance. 

1.  To   develop   a   good   power   cf   subordination,   the 
speaker  must  train  himself  to  hold  the  main  conception 
of  his  theme  so  clearly  in  mind  that  he  feels  instantly 
and   constantly  the   relation   to   this   conception  which 
every  small  conception  bears. 

2.  The  speaker  must  feel  a  strong  desire  to  cause  the 
audience  to  feel  and  to  see  this  relationship. 

3.  He  must  train  his  voice  to  build  this  relationship 
by  feeling  the  vocal  uplift  as  one  idea  leads  up  to  another. 

4.  Lastly,  he  must  so  train  mind,  ear,  and  voice  to- 
gether, that  he  cannot  think  a  thought  without  hearing 
the  melody  that  thought  should  produce,  without  feel- 
ing his  voice  "take   the  journey"   over  hills  and  into 


PRACTICE   IN   SPEAKING  ON   SUBORDINATION   527 

valleys  and  up  higher  hills,  as  he  leads  an  imaginary 
(or  real)  audience  with  him. 

For  this  training,  let  the  intending  speaker  give  descrip- 
tions of  personal  experiences  he  has  had,  let  him  tell  con- 
densed stories,  let  him  present  to  the  class  short  oratorical 
and  argumentative  paragraphs  and  short  poems.  In  all 
these  exercises,  let  him  be  cautioned  against  allowing  his 
mind  to  lose  for  one  instant  the  keen  consciousness  of  the 
relationship  between  all  small  things  spoken  of  and  the 
main  thought  presented.  Let  him  never  utter  a  word  until 
he  has  felt  how  that  word  leads  up  to  something  higher. 

If  his  voice  does  not  respond,  does  not  rise  to  the  hill- 
tops and  descend  into  the  valleys,  then  he  should  work  on 
his  imagination  in  some  such  way  as  that  suggested  by  the 
mountain-climbing  trip  (p.  520)  until  his  whole  body  feels 
the  mounting  up  of  ideas  to  a  central  thought,  and  the 
easy  descent  from  a  central  thought.  When  the  whole 
body  has  come  to  respond  to  the  situation  and  has  come 
to  feel  that  it  is  not  only  climbing  but  is  also  helping  the 
audience  to  climb  the  heights,  the  voice  will  soon  respond 
with  the  body,  and,  in  a  reasonable  time,  with  vigorous 
training,  will  come  to  do  the  work  for  the  entire  body. 


Practice  in  Speaking  on  Subordination 

Put  your  ideas,  gained  through  the  study  of  this  chapter, 
to  the  test  and  to  immediate  use,  by  outlining  the  chapter 
and  speaking  extempore  on  its  various  divisions  and  on 
the  whole  subject. 


528  SUBORDINATION 


Experiments  to  Develop  Subordination 

1.  First  experiment.    Outline  a  descriptive  narrative  of 
some  personal  experience  you  have  had,  in  which  the  events 
accumulated  till  a  climax  was  reached.    When  your  outline 
is  completed  and  you  have  taken  the  four  preliminary  steps, 
suggested  in  the  fourth  paragraph  above,  as  a  foundation 
for  the  building  of  subordination,  experiment  in  telling  your 
story  to  an  imaginary  class.    Remember  that  the  success  of 
the  story  depends  on  your  keeping  the  interest  of  the  audi- 
ence fresh  throughout  the  entire  effort.     Realize  that  this 
can  be  done  only  by  increasing  that  interest  as  your  story 
progresses.     Remember  that  you  can  do  this,  only  by  be- 
coming more  interested  yourself  and  by  feeling  how  each 
small  incident  leads  up  to  a  larger  and  more  important  one. 

Repeat  the  experiment  of  telling  your  story  to  the 
imaginary  audience,  till  you  can  see  before  you  the  vocal 
hills  and  valleys  in  the  pathway  over  which  you  are  going 
to  take  the  audience,  and  the  final  height  you  hope  to  reach. 
Repeat  it  till  these  small  ascents  and  descents,  all  forming 
one  large  ascent,  are  a  real  part  of  your  thinking.  Repeat 
the  experiment  until  you  come  to  hear  the  melody  and  to 
feel  the  lift  of  each  phrase  and  each  sentence  before  you 
speak  it,  and  until  these  seem  to  be  a  part  of  the  things 
about  which  you  speak. 

2.  Second  experiment.     Outline  a  short,  argumentative 
speech  and  experiment  in  presenting  it  as  you  did  in  pre- 
senting your  story  in  experiment  I. 

3.  Third  experiment.     To  further  develop  your  ability 
to  subordinate,  experiment,  as  in  I  and  2  above,  in  speaking 


EXPERIMENT  TO  DEVELOP  SUBORDINATION   529 

the  words  quoted  below.  Few,  if  any,  have  ever  been  more 
able  in  causing  each  single  thing  spoken  of,  to  join  with  its 
fellows  in  building  up  one  strong,  central  meaning  and 
spirit,  than  was  the  great  orator  of  the  South,  Henry  W. 
Grady.  Seldom,  if  ever,  did  he  accomplish  this  masterful 
act  of  subordinating  ideas,  better  than  he  did  in  his  descrip- 
tion of  the  return  of  the  defeated  Army  of  the  Confederacy, 
in  his  famous  speech,  The  New  South.  This  description 
follows : 


Dr.  Talmadge  has  drawn  for  you,  with  a  master  hand,  the 
picture  of  your  returning  armies.  He  has  told  you  how,  in 
the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  war,  they  came  back  to  you, 
marching  with  proud  and  victorious  tread,  reading  their  glory 
in  a  nation's  eyes !  Will  you  bear  with  me  while  I  tell  you 
of  another  army  that  sought  its  home  at  the  close  of  the  late 
war?  An  army  that  marched  home  in  defeat  and  not  in 
victory — in  pathos  and  not  in  splendor,  but  in  glory  that  equaled 
yours,  and  to  hearts  as  loving  as  ever  welcomed  heroes  home. 
Let  me  picture  to  you  the  foot-sore  Confederate  soldier,  as, 
buttoning  up  in  his  faded  gray  jacket  the  parole  which  was 
to  bear  testimony  to  his  children  of  his  fidelity  and  faith,  he 
turned  his  face  southward  from  Appomattox  in  April,  1865. 
Think  of  him,  as,  ragged,  half-starved,  heavy-hearted,  enfeebled 
by  want  and  wounds,  having  fought  to  exhaustion,  he  surrenders 
his  gun,  wrings  the  hands  of  his  comrades  in  silence,  and, 
lifting  his  tear-stained  and  pallid  face  for  the  last  time  to  the 
graves  that  dot  the  old  Virginia  hills,  pulls  his  gray  cap  over 
his  brow,  and  begins  the  slow  and  painful  journey. 

What  does  he  find  ? — let  me  ask  you  who  went  to  your  homes 
eager  to  find,  in  the  welcome  you  had  justly  earned,  full  pay- 
ment for  four  years'  sacrifice — what  does  he  find  when,  having 
followed  the  battle-stained  cross  against  overwhelming  odds, 
dreading  death  not  half  so  much  as  surrender,  he  reaches  the 
home  he  left  so  prosperous  and  beautiful?  He  finds  his  house 
in  ruins,  his  farm  devastated,  his  slaves  free,  his  stock  killed, 
his  barn  empty,  his  trade  destroyed,  his  money  worthless;  his 
social  system,  feudal  in  its  magnificence,  swept  away;  his 
people  without  law  or  legal  status;  his  comrades  slain,  and 
the  burdens  of  others  heavy  on  his  shoulders.  Crushed  by 


53O  SUBORDINATION 

defeat,  his  very  traditions  gone ;  without  money,  credit,  employ- 
ment, material  training;  and  besides  all  this,  confronted  with 
the  gravest  problem  that  ever  met  human  intelligence — the 
establishing  of  a  status  for  the  vast  body  of  his  liberated 
slaves. 

What  does  he  do — this  hero  in  gray,  with  a  heart  of  gold? 
Does  he  sit  down  in  sullenness  and  despair?  Not  for  a  day. 
Surely  God,  who  had  stripped  him  of  his  prosperity,  inspired 
him  in  his  adversity.  As  ruin  was  never  before  so  overwhelm- 
ing, never  was  restoration  swifter.  The  soldier  stepped  from 
the  trenches  into  the  furrow;  horses  that  had  charged  Federal 
guns  marched  before  the  plow,  and  the  fields  that  ran  red 
with  human  blood  in  April  were  green  with  the  harvest  in 
June;  women  reared  in  luxury  cut  up  their  dresses  and  made 
breeches  for  their  husbands,  and,  with  a  patience  and  heroism 
that  fit  women  always  as  a  garment,  gave  their  hands  to  work. 
There  was  little  bitterness  in  all  this.  Cheerfulness  and  frank- 
ness prevailed.  I  want  to  say  to  General  Sherman — who  is 
considered  an  able  man  in  our  parts,  though  some  people  think 
he  is  kind  of  careless  about  fire — that  from  the  ashes  he  left 
us  in  1864  we  have  raised  a  brave  and  beautiful  city;  that 
somehow  or  other  we  have  caught  the  sunshine  in  the  bricks 
and  mortar  of  our  homes,  and  have  builded  therein  not  one 
ignoble  prejudice  or  memory. 

But  in  all  this  what  have  we  accomplished?  What  is  the 
sum  of  our  work?  We  have  found  that,  in  the  general  sum- 
mary, the  free  negro  counts  more  than  he  did  as  a  slave.  We 
have  planted  the  schoolhouse  on  the  hilltop  and  made  it  free 
to  white  and  black.  We  have  sowed  towns  and  cities  in  the 
place  of  theories,  and  put  business  above  politics.  Above  all, 
we  know  that  we  have  achieved,  in  these  "piping  times  of 
peace/'  a  fuller  independence  for  the  South  than  that  which  our 
fathers  sought  to  win  in  the  forum  by  their  eloquence,  or 
compel  on  the  field  by  their  swords. 

If  additional  selections  from  literature  are  desired,  on 
which  to  experiment  for  the  development  of  subordination, 
the  following  will  be  found  excellent  material:  the  speech 
of  Mark  Antony  over  the  body  of  Caesar,  in  Julius  Casar, 
by  Shakespeare,  Act  III,  Sc.  2,  beginning  in  the  scene  at 
line  71  and  ending  at  line  260;  the  comparison  of  Massa- 


EXPERIMENT  TO  DEVELOP  SUBORDINATION   531 

chusetts  with  South  Carolina,  from  The  Reply  to  Hayne, 
by  Daniel  Webster,  the  speech  of  King  Henry,  from  Act 
III,  Sc.  i  of  King  Henry  the  Fifth,  by  Shakespeare,  the 
last  paragraph  of  the  speech  on  NeckeSs  Financial  Plan, 
by  Mirabeau,  the  Dare,  Dare  Again,  Always  Dare  speech 
of  Danton  (the  last  two  many  be  found  in  The  World's 
Famous  Orations,  by  W.  J.  Bryan,  published  by  Funk  & 
Wagnalls  Co.) ;  and  the  Give  Me  Liberty  or  Give  Me 
Death  speech  of  Patrick  Henry. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
VOCAL  MOVEMENT 

WHEN  we  use  the  term  "movement"  in  this  way:  "The 
music  had  a  movement  slow  and  heavy,"  we  speak  of,  not 
one  motion,  but  a  series  of  motions  continued  through  some 
period  of  time.  It  is  with  this  meaning  that  we  shall  speak 
of  the  movements  of  the  voice.  The  voice  will  be  said 
to  have  a  certain  movement  when  through  all  its  motions, 
during  that  particular  utterance,  there  seems  to  run  one 
general,  characteristic  attitude  of  the  mind.  For  example, 
a  speaker  is  said  to  have  a  "light"  movement  when  he 
regards  lightly  the  things  spoken  of,  when  he  finds  the 
things  of  which  he  is  speaking,  a  light  and  easy  load  for 
the  mind  to  carry. 


MOVEMENT  AND  TEMPO 

Tempo  is  a  musical  term  used  to  indicate  the  rapidity  or 
slowness  with  which  a  musical  expression  is  to  be  uttered. 
This  word  is  also  quite  generally  used  to  describe  the  same 
thing  in  speech.  We  do  not  wish  to  criticise  the  application 
of  this  term  to  speech,  but  the  student  of  public  speaking 
should  understand  clearly  that  tempo  refers  to  the  rapidity 
with  which  a  thing  is  uttered  and  to  nothing  else.  In  this 

532 


THE  SOURCE  OF  MOVEMENT  533 

it  is  quite  different  from  movement.  These  two  words  are 
often  used  as  if  they  were  synonyms,  but  movement  has 
a  broader  meaning  than  tempo.  The  former  word  means 
all  that  the  latter  word  does  and  much  more.  When  we 
speak  of  a  "movement/5  we  mean  something  more  than 
speaking  slowly  or  rapidly;  how  much  more,  will  appear 
when  we  study  the  various  kinds  of  movement. 


THE   SOURCE  OF  MOVEMENT 

In  our  study  of  movement  let  us  examine  first  its  cause. 
We  can  the  more  readily  find  the  cause  of  movement  in 
the  voice  by  studying  the  movements  of  physical  bodies. 
Students  of  physics  remember  a  thing  called  "momentum/* 
They  will  recall  that  it  is  the  power  a  moving  body  has  to 
overcome  resistance.  It  is  the  ability  of  a  thing  in  motion, 
to  crush  or  to  penetrate  or  to  move  anything  it  encounters. 
Two  distinct  elements  combine  to  constitute  momentum. 
These  elements  are  the  weight  of  the  moving  body  and  the 
speed  with  which  it  travels.  "Momentum  is  the  product 
of  weight  and  velocity"  is  the  way  it  is  stated  in  physics. 
According  to  this  law,  a  small  rifle-ball  may  have  more 
momentum  than  a  cannon-ball  many  times  larger.  To  il- 
lustrate: Place  the  rifle-ball  in  a  rifle  and  fire  the  gun. 
The  ball  now  travels  at  a  great  velocity  and  will  pass  through 
a  "board  set  up  in  its  course,  as  if  it  were  nothing.  Place 
the  same  board  on  the  floor.  Roll  the  cannon-ball  slowly 
against  it.  The  board,  which  apparently  had  no  power  to 
check  the  speed  of  the  small  rifle-ball,  not  only  checks  but 
stops  the  large  cannon-ball.  But  place  the  cannon-ball  in 


534  VOCAL  MOVEMENT 

a  cannon  and  fire  it.  How  does  its  momentum  now  com- 
pare with  the  momentum  of  the  rifle-ball?  It  will  now 
pass  through  bodies  of  steel  upon  which  the  rifle-ball  could 
not  even  make  a  dent.  The  obvious  conclusion  is  that 
neither  weight  nor  speed,  acting  alone,  can  constitute  great 
momentum,  but  when  great  weight  is  combined  with  great 
speed,  a  powerful  momentum  results. 

If  this  same  law  may  be  applied  to  the  mind,  and  hence 
to  the  voice,  what  is  there  in  speech  that  would  correspond 
to  weight  in  a  moving  body,  and  what  would  correspond 
to  the  speed  of  the  moving  body?  The  importance  of  the 
things  spoken  of  would  be  the  weight ;  the  speed  may  be 
said  to  come  from  the  "ammunition"  within  the  speaker. 
Accordingly,  if  we  should  find  the  law  of  momentum 
operative  in  the  mind  and  voice  of  the  speaker,  the  result 
should  be  obvious.  Then,  as  we  have  found  in  moving 
bodies,  so  in  the  voice,  a  small  and  light  thing  thought 
about  by  the  speaker  could  be  so  spoken  of  as  to  give  the 
utterance  a  greater  momentum  than  the  speaker's  voice 
would  have  at  another  time  in  speaking  of  something  much 
more  weighty.  But,  when  the  speaker's  mind  carries  a 
weighty  thought,  and  when  the  speed  of  his  mind  is  pro- 
portionately great,  his  voice  will  then  have  a  far  greater 
momentum  than  it  could  possibly  have  when  carrying  a 
light  thought  no  matter  how  much  "speed"  of  mind  he 
might  employ  in  uttering  the  light  thought. 

That  we  do  find  these  very  conditions,  needs  little  proof. 
The  same  thing  uttered  by  two  different  persons,  or 
the  same  thing  said  by  the  same  person  at  different  times 
in  different  moods,  will  have  at  one  time  little  "carrying" 
power  while  at  another  time  it  will  "sweep  us  off  our  feet" 


VARIOUS  KINDS  OF  MOVEMENT  535 

How  familiar  are  such  remarks  as  these:  "It  wasn't  so 
much  what  he  said  as  the  way  he  said  it,"  and  "He  had 
weighty  thoughts,  but  he  put  little  force  into  them."  In 
the  first  of  these  sayings  we  are  evidently  thinking  of  an 
utterance  which  had  a  momentum  like  that  of  a  small 
rifle-ball  moving  at  great  speed  because  a  great  force  has 
been  placed  behind  it.  In  the  latter  saying,  we  have  in 
mind  an  utterance  with  no  more  momentum  than  a  cannon- 
ball  rolled  slowly  across  the  floor.  So,  the  law  of  mo- 
mentum may  be  said  to  be  the  same  in  the  voice  as  in 
moving  bodies. 

These  observations  lead  us  to  conclude  that  the  source 
of  vocal  movement  is  twofold.  The  speaker  contemplates 
the  thing  about  which  he  is  speaking  and  loads  his  mind, 
as  it  were,  with  the  weight  of  that  thing.  Naturally  each 
thing  has  its  own  weight,  hence  its  own  effect  on  the 
speaker's  mind,  its  own  ability  to  check  the  speed  of  his 
utterance.  Against  this  weight  the  speaker  throws  the 
force  of  his  personality.  These  two, 

The  weight  of  the  thing  spoken  of  and  the  person- 
ality of  the  speaker,  are  the  sources  of  vocal  movement. 


VARIOUS  KINDS  OF  MOVEMENT 

These  two  sources,  acting  as  they  do  in  the  utterance 
of  every  thought,  produce  several  kinds  of  movement.  We 
hear  someone  speak  the  words:  "Pick  it  up  quickly, 
Jack."  It  is  a  mother  with  her  small  son  who  has  dropped 
a  toy.  They  had  just  started  across  the  room  to  go  out 
into  the  garden.  The  mother's  mind  is  full  of  thoughts 


536  VOCAL  MOVEMENT 

of  the  pleasing  things  she  is  about  to  show  to  the  child. 
She  is  not  concerned  about  the  toy,  only  she  sees  that  the 
child  wishes  to  take  it  with  him.  His  plump  little  form 
is  having  a  hard  time  bending  over  while  his  chubby 
fingers  are  laboring  hard  to  grasp  the  plaything  he  has 
dropped.  Her  heart  is  so  full  of  mother-love  that  she 
wishes  nothing  at  this  moment  so  much  as  to  lighten  the 
child's  mind  and  free  it  from  worry  over  the  toy.  She 
speaks  the  words  "Pick  it  up  quickly,  Jack"  in  a  move- 
ment which  we  would  certainly  call  light  movement.  Her 
utterance  is  neither  particularly  slow  nor  rapid,  it  is  just 
light. 

Again  we  see  her  in  the  same  situation,  only  this  time 
it  is  necessary  for  her  to  hurry  on  to  something  else.  She 
has  just  as  kindly  a  desire  to  lighten  the  child's  mind  as 
in  the  other  instance,  but  she  now  wishes  to  give  him  such 
good  cheer  that  it  will  stimulate  him  to  hurry  and  to  enjoy 
hurrying.  When  she  says:  "Pick  it  up  quickly,  Jack,"  the 
movement  of  her  voice  is  as  light  as  before,  but  now  it  is 
as  rapid  as  it  is  light.  We  could,  therefore,  properly 
name  this  movement  a  light,  rapid  movement. 

The  boy  has  now  dropped  something  which  the  mother 
knows  to  be  heavy  but  not  too  heavy  for  him  to  pick  up 
quickly  if  he  shows  himself  to  be  the  little  man  she  knows 
him  to  be.  Between  the  words,  her  mind  seems  to  be 
saying  to  him:  "There  is  the  size  of  that  and  here  is  the 
amount  of  your  strength  required  to  move  it.  Now  lift. 
See,  it  is  done."  As  she  says :  "Pick  it  up  quickly,  Jack," 
her  voice  is  large  and  its  movement  is  heavy,  but  it  is  neither 
slow  nor  rapid.  We  could  properly  call  it  a  heavy  move- 
ment. 


VARIOUS  KINDS  OF  MOVEMENT  537 

Now  the  boy  has  dropped  something  and  is  so  annoyed 
that  tears  of  anger  and  worry  begin  to  flow.  When  the 
mother  says:  "Pick  it  up  quickly,  Jack,"  the  movement 
of  her  voice  is  both  slow  and  light.  Her  mind  seems  to 
regard  his  load  of  trouble  as  an  imaginary  load.  Her 
movement  is  saying  to  him:  "Why,  it  is  so  easy  you  can 
do  it  without  knowing  it." 

Now  we  hear  the  mother  speak  those  words  so  as  to 
shock  us  with  their  weight.  Several  years  have  passed 
and  she  has  come  to  depend  on  the  strength  of  her  son. 
A  great  weight  has  fallen  upon  the  mother  and  is  crushing 
her.  She  is  unable  to  throw  off  the  weight.  Her  mind  is 
staggered  as  it  contemplates  the  great  task.  Her  body 
shrinks,  and  her  voice  seems  hardly  able  to  speak  as  she 
calls  in  the  same  words  as  before:  "Pick  it  up  quickly, 
Jack."  This  time  the  movement  of  her  voice  is  both  slow 
and  heavy. 

Let  us  observe  but  one  more  situation.  These  two, 
mother  and  son,  are  standing  watching  a  child  of  whom 
they  are  very  fond  when  a  heavy  object  falls  upon  the 
child.  The  mind  of  the  mother  conceives  clearly  the  very 
great  strength  necessary  to  remove  the  object,  but  she 
sees,  too,  that  her  son  must  remove  it  at  once  to  save  the 
child's  life.  When  she  speaks  the  words:  "Pick  it  up 
quickly,  Jack,"  the  movement  of  her  voice  seems  as  heavy 
as  if  it  had  no  speed  and  as  rapid  as  if  it  had  no'  weight 
to  carry.  It  is  a  voice  of  irresistible  momentum.  The 
movement  is  certainly  to  be  called  a  heavy  rapid  movement. 

From  the  above  illustration,  we  discover  that  the  same 
words  may  be  spoken  by  the  same  person  to  the  same 
person  in  all  six  of  the  different  movements.  Not  only 


VOCAL  MOVEMENT 

may  these  words  be  so  spoken,  they  should  be  so  spoken 
under  such  circumstances.  In  life  they  would  be  so  spoken. 
We  chose  a  mother  speaking  to  her  child  merely  to  have 
actual  persons  involved.  Any  two  persons  would  cer- 
tainly experience  and  use  as  wide  a  range  of  movement 
as  we  found  above  if  they  entered  sympathetically  into  the 
circumstances.  It  should  furthermore  be  noted  that  we 
chose  a  sentence  which  the  careless  observer  would  in- 
variably declare  capable  of  but  one  movement.  He  would 
say  that  those  words  should  always  be  spoken  in  a  rapid 
movement.  This  shows  that  words,  in  and  of  themselves, 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  formation  of  the  movement. 

Movement  arises  from  the  nature  of  the  thing  con- 
templated and  from  the  state  of  the  personality  which 
is  contemplating  that  thing. 

.Let  us  inquire  more  closely  into  the  meaning  of  this 
last  statement.  What  is  it  that  determines  whether  a 
movement  shall  be  light  or  heavy,  slow  or  rapid,  and 
whether  it  shall  be  some  combination  of  these?  Let  us 
first  consider  the  light  movement.  Careful  analysis  of  the 
illustration  above  will  show  us  that: 

When  the  principal  characteristic  of  the  movement 
of  the  voice  is  its  lightness,  it  is  because  at  that  moment 
the  mind  of  the  speaker  is  considering  something  light, 
is  feeling  how  easy  it  is  to  move  the  thing  contemplated, 
and,  at  the  same  moment,  is  trying  to  impart  lightness 
to  the  life  of  the  listener. 

A  similar  analysis  will  prove  that  a  light  slow  movement 
of  the  voice  results  when  the  mind  of  the  speaker  is  con- 
sidering something  light  and  at  the  same  moment  is  trying 
to  deter  the  mind  of  the  listener  from  thinking  of  some- 


VARIOUS  KINDS  OF  MOVEMENT  539 

thing  heavier  or  harder  to  bear  or  move  (as  when  the 
mother  tries  to  turn  the  child's  mind  from  worry  over  the 
loss  of  the  toy  to  the  joy  of  having  it  again),  or  when 
the  speaker  is  trying  to  hold  his  own  mind  back  from 
speeding  on  to  something  else.  This  is  usually  done  that 
both  speaker  and  listener  may  continue  to  contemplate  the 
lightness  of  the  thing  viewed,  e.g.,  when  one  lover  strolls 
and  talks  to  another,  as  Lorenzo  says  to  Jessica:  "How 
soft  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank."  The  light  slow 
movement  is  produced  also  when  the  speaker  contemplates 
something  light  toward  which  he  is  so  indifferent,  or  lazy, 
that,  though  he  knows  that  something  would  be  easy  to 
move,  he  does  not  wish  to  bother  with  it.  In  all  these  cases, 
we  encounter  the  common  law  of  mind  that: 

A  light  slow  movement  of  the  voice  is  produced  when 
the  mind  of  the  speaker  is  considering  an  object  light 
and  easy  to  move  but  to  move  which  the  personality 
of  the  speaker  is  making  no  attempt. 

To  state  the  law  another  way,  light  slow  movement  arises 
when  a  light  thing  is  contemplated  by  the  speaker  and  when 
the  moving  power  of  the  speaker's  personality  is  lighter 
(less  active)  than  the  thing  contemplated. 

An  analysis  of  the  conditions  which  produce  light  rapid 
movement,  shows  us  that : 

This  movement  is  used  by  the  speaker  who  is  speak- 
ing of  light  things  and  whose  personality  is  so  much 
more  light  and  buoyant,  at  that  moment,  that  it  carries 
both  object  and  listener  lightly  along. 

Let  us  now  investigate  the  heavy  movement.  When 
the  mother  spoke  in  this  movement  to  the  child,  it  was 
because  she  was  thinking  of  something  heavy,  but  felt 


540  VOCAL  MOVEMENT 

herself  able  to  cope  with  the  thing  thought  about.  More 
than  this,  she  felt  that  she  must  induce  in  the  child  a  per- 
sonality strong  enough  to  master  the  heavy  thing  thought 
about.  This  one  case  puts  the  law  as  clearly  as  many 
illustrations  might  do. 

The  heavy  movement  arises  when  the  speaker's  mind 
realizes  that  the  weight  of  the  thing  spoken  of  is  great, 
realizes  the  strength  of  personality  required  to  move 
that  thing,  and  is  trying  to  cause  the  listener  to  realize 
the  same  things. 

What  causes  the  heavy  movement  to  change  into  the 
heavy  slow  movement  ?  In  the  illustration  above,  the  change 
took  place  when  the  mind  of  the  speaker  was  thinking  of 
something  so  heavy  that  it  felt  unable  to  move  that  thing. 
At  another  time,  we  might  hear  this  movement  in  the  voice 
of  a  person  who  feels  capable  of  moving  the  heavy  thing 
spoken  of,  but  who  does  not  wish  to  exert  himself,  as 
when  the  lazy  boy  drawls :  "Aw,  what's  the  use  ?  I  don't 
want  to  carry  it."  We  may  also  hear  this  movement  in 
the  voice  of  a  person  who  wishes  to  deter  the  listener 
from  moving  a  heavy  thing  spoken  of.  An  example  of 
this  cause  is  found  in  such  words  as  these  from  the  Bible: 
"Touch  not,  taste  not,  handle  not  the  andean  thing."  In 
speaking  these  words,  if  the  speaker  fully  senses  the 
strength  it  will  require,  of  the  listener,  to  overcome  the 
"unclean  thing,"  the  thought  becomes  a  mighty  weight  tot 
him,  as  he  tries  to  save  the  listener  from  that  terrible  task. 
In  all  cases,  we  find  that : 

The  heavy  slow  movement  arises  when  the  mind  of 
the  speaker  contemplates  a  heavy  thing  which  the  per- 


MOVEMENT  AND  SUBORDINATION  54! 

sonality  of  the  speaker  feels  unable  or  disinclined  to 
move. 

What  causes  a  movement  to  be  both  heavy  and  rapid? 
Careful  thought  will  reveal  the  fact  that: 

Such  a  movement  results  only  when  great  power  is 
applied  to  great  weight,  and  then  only  when  the  power 
applied  is  enough  greater  than  the  weight  to  overcome 
it  quickly  and  sweep  it  along. 

In  the  case  cited  above,  very  heavy  movement  of  the 
voice  became  rapid  from  the  speaker's  sensing  that  the 
heavy  thing  thought  of  must  be  moved  at  once.  This 
element  of  time  plays  a  large  part  in  this  movement.  Heavy 
rapid  voice  corresponds  to  cannon-shots  in  moving  bodies. 
Such  a  voice  can  come  naturally  only  when  the  mind  of 
the  speaker  conceives  a  power  great  enough  to  overcome 
all  opposition  on  the  instant. 

MOVEMENT  AND   SUBORDINATION 

The  pioneer  speakers  of  this  country  loved  to  quote  this 
interesting  precept  regarding  movement:  "Begin  low,  go 
slow;  rise  higher,  strike  fire."  It  was  a  superficial  ob- 
servation, hence,  not  a  safe  guide  in  building  natural  and 
effective  speech.  There  is  something  back  of  it,  however, 
that  is  worth  our  consideration,  something  that  may  dis- 
close the  very  relation  we  are  looking  for,  the  relation 
between  subordination  and  movement.  What  was  there 
in  the  make-up  of  a  speech  that  caused  those  sturdy  minds 
to  realize  the  general  desirability  of  a  movement  more 
rapid  and  of  greater  momentum,  as  the  speech  progressed 
toward  its  conclusion? 


542  VOCAL  MOVEMENT 

To  answer  this  question  more  readily,  return  for  a 
moment  to  the  chapter  on  Subordination.  There  we  learned 
that  the  speaker  never  attains  a  high  degree  of  subor- 
dination until  he  finds  delight  in  showing  his  audience  so 
close  a  relation  between  all  small  thoughts  and  the  one 
central  thought  presented,  that  each  new  thought  becomes 
a  new  height  on  which  he  and  his  audience  may  stand  to 
view  the  more  clearly  the  central  thought.  Now  the 
pioneer  speakers  of  our  country  were  pioneer  settlers. 
They  knew  what  it  was  to  overcome  real  opposition.  The 
things  about  which  they  spoke,  were  often  obstacles  which 
they  knew  they  would  have  to  conquer  or  to  control  the 
next  day  or  the  next  week  or  the  next  year.  As  they 
told  of  these  in  a  speech,  as  they  marshalled  more  and 
more  of  them  before  the  audience,  there  naturally  arose 
within  the  speakers  a  stronger  and  stronger  feeling  of 
resistance  to  the  things  about  which  they  were  speaking. 

In  this  very  conception  lies  the  additional  work  of  the 
mind  in  producing  movement  when  subordination  is  real- 
ized. When  the  mind  of  the  speaker  has  discerned  the 
relation  of  any  small  idea  to  the  central  idea  of  the  main 
theme,  his  mind  must  then  be  quick  to  sense  how  much 
it  "weighs"  (how  much  opposition  it  offers  to  his  purpose 
or  how  much  moving  power  it  will  have  if  set  hi  motion). 
According  to  its  weight,  should  the  speaker  exert  himself 
to  "carry"  this  new  idea. 

Yet  this  "carrying"  process  of  the  speaker  has  so 
peculiar  an  effect  upon  his  strength,  that  the  student  should 
note  it  carefully.  It  is  not  a  burden  which  tires  out.  It 
is  like  the  load  of  coal  and  water  which  the  locomotive 
carries.  If  the  engineer  has  used  wisdom  in  loading  his 


MOVEMENT,    BODILY  ACTION  AND   EMOTION    543 

engine  with  these  things,  and  if  he  uses  them  in  propor- 
tion to  the  burden  to  be  carried  and  the  speed  to  be  made, 
he  finds  the  coal  and  the  water  no  burden  but  the  very 
substance  of  his  power.  Likewise  when  a  speaker  assumes 
the  burdens  which  his  theme  presents  and  undertakes  to 
carry  them  for  the  audience,  by  showing  his  hearers  how 
to  carry  them,  this  very  act  so  increases  his  own  carrying 
power  that  he  is  less  burdened  than  before.  As  a  para- 
graph or  a  stanza  of  his  theme  grows,  he  thus  finds  power 
added  to  power  until  the  momentum  of  his  own  personality 
is  so  great  that  he  easily  "carries  his  audience  along  with 
him." 

From  these  observations,  it  appears  that  movement  is 
a  higher  and  more  powerful  means  of  emphasis  than  sub- 
ordination, that  it  grows  out  of  subordination,  but  that 
subordination  is  not  complete  until  it  has  culminated  in 
movement. 


MOVEMENT,   BODILY  ACTION  AND  EMOTION 

The  reader  who  is  a  keen  observer  has  already  noted 
that  Vocal  Movement  is  the  most  emotional  of  all  the 
modes  of  emphasis  so  far  studied. 

Movement  never  becomes  a  strong  feature  of  a 
speaker's  utterance  until  he  has  assumed  an  active  atti- 
tude toward  everything  spoken  of. 

In  our  study  of  the  emotions,  we  found  that  emotion 
begins  when  the  speaker  assumes  an  active  attitude  toward 
the  thing  spoken  of.  Furthermore,  we  learned  that  the 
constructive  or  destructive  process  which  immediately  takes 


544  VOCAL  MOVEMENT 

place  throughout  the  entire  being  when  the  speaker  assumes 
an  active  attitude  toward  a  thing  contemplated,  is  the 
emotion.  We  may  fairly  assume,  then,  that: 

The  Vocal  Movement  is  an  evidence  in  the  voice 
of  the  emotion  that  moment  experienced  by  the  speaker. 

Let  the  speaker  depend  upon  his  imagination  and  his 
conception  alone  to  build  vocal  movement,  without  putting 
himself  into  bodily  action,  and  note  the  result.  The  voice 
lacks  both  strength  and  certainty.  Its  movement  is  light, 
and  even  slow,  where  it  should  be  heavy  and  rapid.  We 
need  no  better  evidence  that  the  emotion  of  the  speaker 
is  being  starved  because  he  is  not  "feeding"  it  by  bodily 
action.  The  demand  for  action  as  a  supporter  of  move- 
ment, then,  becomes  quite  clear. 

Movement  as  a  means  of  emphasis  avails  nothing 
if  it  does  not  evince  the  speaker's  ability  to  lead  the 
audience  and  to  carry  their  burdens  for  them.  We 
have  seen  that  the  vocal  movement  of  a  speaker  de- 
pends on  the  strength  of  the  emotion  generated  within 
him.  We  have  seen,  furthermore,  that  the  emotion,  in 
turn,  depends  for  its  strength  on  the  bodily  action  of  the 
speaker.  Accordingly : 

If  movement  is  to  be  an  effective  mode  of  emphasis — 
if  it  is  to  be  strong  enough  to  present  the  truth  in  its 
strongest  light — it  must  be  accompanied  and  supported 
by  free  and  vigorous  bodily  action. 


TTE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  MOVEMENT     545 


THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  MOVEMENT 

The  development  of  movement  is  usually  found  to  be 
most  rapid  and,  at  the  same  time,  most  pleasant  for  the 
student,  if,  at  the  beginning,  he  is  required  to  describe  the 
movements  of  various  material  things.  The  teacher  should 
be  careful  to  see  that  the  intending  speaker  enters  fully  and 
sympathetically  into  the  movements  of  everything  described, 
so  that  his  voice  and  his  bodily  action  manifest  the  weight 
and  speed  of  all  movements. 

Probably  the  best  second  step  in  the  development  of 
movement,  is  the  presentation  of  short,  vigorous  argu- 
ments. The  student  should  argue  against  such  things  as 
he  strongly  feels  should  be  moved  and  cleared  away,  or 
for  such  things  as  he  feels  will  have  a  great  power  to 
move  affairs  in  the  right  direction.  He  should  be  careful 
to  feel  the  movements  of  these  immaterial  things  as  clearly 
and  as  intensely  as  he  felt  the  movements  of  the  material 
things  described  before.  This  work  should  usually  be  fol- 
lowed by  the  presentation  of  vigorous  lyrical  passages  such 
as  those  found  below. 


Practice  in  Speaking  on  Movement 

To  fix  in  mind  the  principles  treated  in  this  chapter,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  to  make  them  your  own,  ready  to  serve 
you  in  practical  speech,  at  once  put  these  principles  to  use 
in  speech.  Outline  the  chapter,  and,  from  your  outlire, 
make  a  separate  extempore  speech  on  each  division  of  the 


546  VOCAL  MOVEMENT 

subject  and  on  the  whole  chapter.  Try  to  conceive  your 
own  need  of  Movement,  and,  from  your  need,  draw  illustra- 
tions and  make  your  applications  of  the  principles  set  forth. 

Experiments  to  Develop  Vocal  Movement 

i.  For  the  first  experiment  in  Movement,  go  to  some 
point  where  you  can  watch  the  movements  of  railroad 
trains,  both  passenger  and  freight.  Watch  them  starting, 
stopping,  and  running  with  some  speed.  Observe  the  move- 
ments of  the  trains  under  all  possible  conditions,  when  they 
are  loaded  so  heavily  that  they  can  hardly  move,  when  they 
are  loaded  heavily  but  move  with  some  speed,  when  they 
are  empty  and  yet  move  slowly,  when  they  are  empty  and 
move  swiftly,  etc.  Enter  sympathetically  into  every  move- 
ment studied.  Imagine  how  you  would  feel  if  you  were 
making  that  movement  yourself.  If  you  are  so  situated  that 
you  can  talk  to  a  present  or  an  imaginary  friend,  while  you 
watch  the  movements,  describe  to  this  friend,  as  graphically 
as  possible,  each  movement  while  you  study  it. 

Return  to  your  room.  Imagine  the  class,  to  which  you 
will  present  your  description  of  the  movements,  is  now 
before  you.  Imagine  that  one  of  the  trains  is  again  near 
you,  and  that  you  have  taken  the  members  of  the  class 
with  you  to  describe  to  them  the  movements  you  witness. 
Enter  so  sympathetically  into  the  rhythm  of  the  movement 
you  describe,  and  imagine  so  distinctly  how  it  would  feel 
to  be  moving  as  the  thing  described  is  moving,  that  the 
movement  of  your  voice  reflects,  even  more  plainly  than 
your  words,  the  movement  of  the  train.  Describe,  in  this 
manner,  each  train  you  studied. 


TO  DEVELOP  VOCAL  MOVEMENT      547 

2.  For  the  second  experiment,  either  repeat  some  short, 
vigorous  argument  you  have  previously  given  or  construct 
a  new  one.     As   suggested  above,  let  this  speech  be  an 
argument  against  something  which  you  feel  should  be  moved 
and  cleared  away,  or  let  it  be  an  argument  for  something 
which  you  feel  will  have  a  great  power  to  move  things  in 
the  right  direction.     Build  such  clear  conceptions  of  every 
thing  spoken  of  and  imagine  those  things  so  near  you,  that 
you  cannot  fail  to  enter  as  sympathetically  into  the  move- 
ments of  each  of  those  things,  while  you  watch  them  in 
imagination,  as  you  would  do  if  they  were  actually  moving 
before  you.    Realize  that  the  success  of  this  argument  de- 
pends almost  wholly  on  your  ability  to  take  your  audience 
with  you  in  the  various  imaginary  movements  necessary 
to  attack  the  things  you  attack  and  defend  the  things  you 
defend.     Realize,  too,  that  the  best  means  you  have  by 
which  to  lead  the  audience  into  these  movements,  is  the 
movement  of  your  own  voice. 

3.  Third  experiment.     To  further  develop  your  ability 
to  use  Movement  as  an  effective  means  of  emphasis,  thor- 
oughly conceive  the  various  causes  of  Vocal  Movement  in 
each  of  the  following  selections  from  literature,  then  read 
and  recite  them,  trying,  as  you  do  so,  to  give  each  message 
principally  through  Movement. 


And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste :  the  steed,  the  muster- 
ing squadron,  and  the  clattering  car,  went  pouring  forward 
with  impetuous  speed,  and  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war; 
and  the  deep  thunder,  peal  on  peal,  afar;  and  near,  the  beat 
of  the  alarming  drum  roused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morning 
star;  while  thronged  the  citizens,  with  terror  dumb,  or  whisper- 
ing with  white  lips,  "The  foe  !  They  come  !  They  come  !" — 
From  The  Battle  of  Waterloo,  by  Byron. 


548  VOCAL  MOVEMENT 

Kentish  Sir  Byng  stood  for  his  King,  bidding  the  crop-headed 
Parliament  swing:  and,  pressing  a  troop  unable  to  stoop  and 
see  the  rogues  flourish  and  honest  folk  droop,  marched  them 
along,  fifty-score  strong,  great-hearted  gentlemen,  singing  this 
song. 

God  for  King  Charles!  Pym  and  such  carles  to  the  Devil 
that  prompts  'em  their  treasonous  paries !  Cavaliers  up  !  Lips 
from  the  cup,  hands  from  the  pasty,  nor  bite  take  nor  sup  till 
you're — Marching  along,  fifty-score  strong,  great-hearted  gen- 
tlemen, singing  this  song. 

Hampden  to  hell,  and  his  obsequies  knell.  Serve  Hazelrig, 
Fiennes,  and  young  Harry  as  well !  England,  good  cheer ! 
Rupert  is  near!  Kentish  and  loyalists,  keep  we  not  here 
Marching  along  fifty-score  strong,  great-hearted  gentlemen, 
singing  this  song. 

Then,  God  for  King  Charles!  Pym  and  his  snarls  to  the 
Devil  that  pricks  on  such  pestilent  carles!  Hold  by  the  right, 
you  double  your  might;  so,  onward  to  Nottingham,  fresh  for 
the  fight,  march  we  along,  fifty-score  strong,  great-hearted 
gentlemen,  singing  this  song. — From  Marching  Along,  by 
Browning. 


With  slouch  and  swing  around  the  ring  we  trod  the  Fools' 
Parade!  We  did  not  care:  we  knew  we  were  the  Devil's 
Own  Brigade:  and  shaven  head  and  feet  of  lead  make  a  merry 
masquerade. 

We  tore  the  tarry  rope  to  shreds  with  blunt  and  bleeding 
nails ;  we  rubbed  the  doors,  and  scrubbed  the  floors,  and  cleaned 
the  shining  rails:  and,  rank  by  rank,  we  soaped  the  plank, 
and  clattered  with  the  pails. 

We  sewed  the  sacks,  we  broke  the  stones,  we  turned  the 
dusty  drill :  we  banged  the  tins,  and  bawled  the  hymns,  and 
sweated  on  the  mill :  but  in  the  heart  of  every  man  terror  was 
lying  still. 

So  still  it  lay  that  every  day  crawled  like  a  weed-clogged 
wave:  and  we  forgot  the  bitter  lot  that  waits  for  fool  and 
knave. — From  The  Ballad  of  Reading  Gaol,  by  Oscar  Wilde. 

She  loosed  the  strong  white  charger,  that  fed  from  out  her 
hand,  she  mounted,  and  she  turned  his  head  toward  her  native 
land.  Out — out  into  the  darkness — faster,  and  still  more  fast; 
the  smooth  grass  files  behind  her,  the  chestnut  wood  is  passed; 


TO  DEVELOP  VOCAL  MOVEMENT      549 

she  looks  up;  clouds  are  heavy:  why  is  her  steed  so  slow? — 
Scarcely  the  wind  beside  them  can  pass  them  as  they  go. 
"Faster!"  she  cries,  "oh,  faster!"  Eleven  the  church  bells 
chime;  "O  God,"  she  cries,  "help  Bregenz,  and  bring  me  there 
in  time  S"  But  louder  than  bells  ringing,  or  lowing  of  the 
kine,  grows  nearer  in  the  midnight  the  rushing  of  the  Rhine. 
Shall  not  the  roaring  waters  their  headlong  gallop  check? 
The  steed  draws  back  in  terror ;  she  leans  upon  his  neck  to 
watch  the  flowing  darkness ;  the  bank  is  high  and  steep ;  one 
pause — he  staggers  forward,  and  plunges  in  the  deep.  She 
strives  to  pierce  the  darkness,  and  looser  throws  the  rein;  her 
steed  must  breast  the  waters  that  dash  above  his  mane.  How 
gallantly,  how  nobly,  he  struggles  through  the  foam !  And 
see ! — in  the  far  distance,  shine  out  the  lights  of  home !  Up 
the  steep  bank  he  bears  her,  and  now  they  rush  again  toward 
the  heights  of  Bregenz,  that  tower  above  the  plain.  They 
reach  the  gate  of  Bregenz,  just  as  the  midnight  rings,  and 
out  come  serf  and  soldier  to  meet  the  news  she  brings. — From 
A  Legend  of  Bregenz,  by  Adelaide  A.  Proctor. 

If  additional  selections  are  desired,  the  following  will  be 
found  good  for  developing  Movement :  Tennyson's  A  Wel- 
come to  Alexandra,  and  Lady  of  Shalott,  from  line  154  to 
the  close  ;  The  Victor  of  Marengo,  by  Joel  T.  Headley  ( found 
in  The  School  Speaker  and  Reader,  by  William  DeWitt 
Hyde,  published  by  Ginn  &  Co.,  N.  Y.)  ;  and  The  Daffodils, 
by  Wordsworth. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
TONE-TEXTURE  AND  TOUCH 

NOTHING  more  quickly  impresses  the  ear  of  the  sensitive 
listener  than  the  texture  of  the  human  voice.  In  whatever 
we  say  before  an  audience,  tone-texture  is  present  and  it 
influences  those  who  hear  us  either  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
make  our  task  easier  and  our  success  greater,  or  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  make  our  task  greater  and  full  success  in 
our  speaking  impossible. 


THE  SOURCES  OF  TONE-TEXTURE 

Two  characters  of  the  "Leatherstocking"  type  are  walk- 
ing along  together.  One  of  them  is  searching  for  a  small 
flint  for  his  flint-lock  rifle.  The  other  is  aiding  him  in 
an  indifferent  way.  He  doesn't  care  much.  He  will  gain 
nothing  from  rinding  the  stone.  Its  nature  or  its  usefulness 
mean  little  to  him.  He  wants  to  find  it  only  to  show  his 
companion  that  he  can  do  so.  Presently  he  sees  the  stone 
desired,  when  he  drawls  out  the  words:  "There  is  your 
flint."  The  texture  of  his  voice,  as  he  says  this,  is  not 
different  from  the  texture  he  used  this  morning  when  he 
spoke  about  the  mush.  Mush  and  flint  produce  in  him  the 
same  tone-texture!  Surely  he  is  not  building  tone-texture 

55o 


THE  SOURCE  OF  TONE-TEXTURE  55! 

from  the  nature  of  the  thing  of  which  he  speaks.  But 
hear  the  texture  of  another  voice  that  says:  "Don't  strike 
that ;  you  will  break  your  hand.  That  is  as  hard  as  flint !" 
This  speaker  refers  to  the  flint  only  indirectly,  through  the 
simile,  yet  so  fully  has  the  nature  of  the  flint  been  sensed 
by  the  speaker,  that  merely  to  think  of  it  is  to  cause  his 
voice  to  become  hard  and  firm  like  the  flint. 

These  two  illustrations  suffice  to  bring  before  our  minds 
two  facts;  first:  Tone-texture  may  be  derived  from  the 
texture  of  the  things  spoken  of;  secondly: 

Tone-texture  is  derived  from  the  nature  of  the  things 
spoken  of  only  when  the  speaker's  mind  holds,  at  that 
moment,  a  strong  and  active  conception  of  the  peculiar 
texture  of  the  thing  contemplated. 

Are  we  to  conclude  from  this  principle  that  the  texture 
of  the  speaker's  voice  should  always  manifest  the  texture 
of  the  things  about  which  he  is  speaking,  and  that  his 
thinking  and  his  conception-building  are  faulty  whenever 
his  voice  does  not  do  this?  Such  a  conclusion  will  lead 
us  into  instant  trouble.  Before  the  author  lies  a  rubber 
eraser.  He  picks  it  up  and  says  to  a  friend  sitting  by: 
"What  a  wide  use  is  being  made  of  rubber  to-day."  Is 
there  any  occasion  for  the  speaker  to  try  to  make  his  voice 
take  on  the  texture  of  rubber  when  he  speaks  the  word 
"rubber"?  The  very  thought  of  it  is  ridiculous.  The 
nature  of  the  thing  spoken  of,  rubber,  is  not  the  principal 
thought  in  the  speaker's  mind.  He  is  not  concerned  with 
the  nature  of  that  thing  but  with  its  usefulness.  Though 
the  speaker  holds  in  his  hand  a  material  thing,  he  is  not 
trying  to  direct  the  mind  of  the  listener  to  analyze  that 


552  TONE-TEXTURE   AND  TOUCH 

thing.  He  is  trying  rather  to  direct  the  listener's  mind  away 
from  that  small  object  to  some  of  the  many  uses  to  which 
rubber  is  put. 

What,  then,  does  cause  the  tone-texture  in  such  a 
sentence  as  the  one  quoted,  and  what  kind  of  texture  would 
the  voice  have  in  that  sentence?  A  close  examination 
proves  that  the  texture  is  determined  by  the  speaker's  con- 
ception of  the  word  "use. '  That  word  is  a  kind  of  active 
noun.  If  it  suggests  to  the  speaker  merely  the  wide  extent 
to  which  the  traffic  in  rubber  has  gone,  the  voice  will 
assume  whatever  texture  that  expanse  seems  to  the  speaker 
to  have.  If,  however,  the  words  "wide  use"  suggest  to  the 
speaker  an  increased  activity,  if  they  bring  to  him  the 
great  energy  which  is  being  put  into  this  traffic,  or  the 
power  this  traffic  has  become  in  the  business  world,  the 
voice  will  probably  be  as  large  as  the  voice  caused  by  the 
other  conception  and  will  certainly  be  much  more  solid. 
It  will  now  be  filled  with  the  solid  energy  that  is  conceived 
to  be  back  of  such  a  great  activity  in  the  world. 

How,  then,  is  the  student  to  determine  from  what  source 
to  draw  the  texture  in  order  that  his  voice  may  present  the 
best  possible  message?  When  will  it  be  proper  for  the 
speaker  to  pay  attention  to  the  texture  of  the  concrete 
things  about  which  he  is  speaking?  When,  too,  should 
he  turn  his  attention  to  the  things  said  about  those  concrete 
things  or  to  other  things  suggested  by  those  concrete  things? 
There  can  be  but  one  answer  to  these  questions.  The 
thing  to  which  the  speaker's  mind  should  be  so  closely 
directed  that  his  voice  will  take  on  the  texture  of  that 
thing,  will  always  be  determined  by  what  the  speaker  Ts 
trying  to  do.  The  speaker  who  would  have  his  voice 


THE  SOURCE  OF  TONE-TEXTURE  553 

always  alive  with  the  keenest  message  must  constantly  ask 
himself  the  question: 

"Why  am  I  speaking  of  these  things?  "Am  I  trying 
to  hold  the  minds  of  my  hearers  on  these  things,  that 
they  may  sense  more  keenly  the  inner  nature  of  these 
things,  or  am  I  trying  to  direct  their  minds,  through  the 
concrete  things  spoken  of,  to  something  else?" 

When  the  speaker  is  ready  to  answer  these  questions,  he 
is  then  ready  to  build  tone-texture  that  will  strengthen  his 
message.  From  these  observations,  it  should  appear  that: 

The  purpose  of  the  speaker  is  as  important  in  building 
tone-texture  as  are  the  things  talked  about. 

Let  us  examine  the  purpose  of  the  speaker  a  little  more 
closely.  It  is  a  subject  to  which  little  psychological  atten- 
tion has  been  paid.  Writers  on  the  subject  of  speaking 
seem  to  have  regarded  purpose  as  something  not  capable 
of  analysis  or  development.  Experience  has  taught  the 
author  that  neither  of  these  conclusions  is  warranted.  It 
is  possible  to  find  out  what  enters  into  the  make-up  of  a 
purpose,  hence,  it  is  possible  to  train  the  mind  to  form 
a  purpose  in  speech-work,  quickly  and  well,  as  we  shall 
presently  try  to  show. 

The  wide-awake  student  has  no  sooner  been  told  that 
tone-texture,  one  of  the  important  modes  of  emphasis,  is 
determined  as  much  by  his  purpose  as  it  is  by  the  things 
spoken  of,  than  he  begins  to  inquire :  "How  am  I  to  know 
that  I  am  speaking  from  the  right  purpose?  Am  I  to 
form  a  purpose  arbitrarily,  just  say  I  will  do  this  or  that 
with  the  theme  I  am  presenting?  And  will  a  purpose  thus 
formed  be  sure  to  turn  my  mind  to  those  things  to  pay 
attention  to  which  will  give  my  speech  the  best  possible 


554  TONE-TEXTURE   AND   TOUCH 

tone-texture  ?"  The  answer  to  these  questions  is  not  diffi- 
cult. It  is  not  wise  for  the  speaker  arbitrarily  to  form 
his  purpose  in  presenting  a  theme.  If  he  does  so,  he  is 
likely  to  present  every  theme  from  much  the  same  narrow 
and  monotonous  purpose.  This  rigid  attitude,  formed  by 
an  arbitrary  purpose,  naturally  makes  the  mind  less  sus- 
ceptible. The  speaker  ceases  to  receive  impressions  from 
many  things  which  would  give  his  tone-texture  vigor  and 
variety. 

The  speaker's  purpose  should  come  from  a  combina- 
tion of  two  things,  from  his  conception  of  the  main 
theme,  the  central  phase  of  life  he  is  presenting,  and 
from  his  conception  of  the  need  of  his  audience  for  that 
theme. 

A  purpose  so  formed  will  turn  the  attention  of  the 
speaker  to  the  best  sources  of  tone-texture.  If  the  speaker 
has  so  clear  a  conception  of  the  theme  he  is  presenting, 
if  he  senses  its  inner  nature  so  keenly,  that  its  very  life  be- 
comes his  life,  and  if  he  senses  keenly  the  feeling  his 
hearers  will  have  when  they  receive  the  impressions  he  is 
receiving,  surely  his  purpose  will  at  once  be  formed  and 
will  be  a  right  purpose.  It  will  be  a  right  purpose  because 
it  constantly  demands  of  the  speaker  that  he  "take  his  own 
medicine"  before  he  tries  it  on  the  audience.  That  is: 

A  purpose  thus  formed  causes  the  speaker  to  receive 
each  and  every  impression  which  he  would  give  to  his 
hearers. 

This  demand  turns  his  mind  instantly  to  see  only  those 
things  which  endue  his  theme  with  life,  those  things 
which  contain  what  he  most  desires  his  audience  to  have. 
We  might,  then,  define  a  speaker's  purpose  thus: 


RELATION  OF  TONE-TEXTURE  555 

The  purpose  of  a  speaker  should  arise  from  an  intense 
desire  within  him,  to  have  his  audience  sense  those  things 
which  he  at  that  moment  senses. 

From  the  above  observations,  we  may  fairly  conclude 
that: 

The  source  of  tone-texture  is  the  texture  of  the  things 
talked  about  and  the  texture  of  the  speaker's  purpose 
in  presenting  those  things  to  others. 


RELATION  OF  TONE-TEXTURE  TO   BODILY  ACTION,  \ 
AND   EMOTION 

We  have  just  spoken  of  the  purpose  of  the  speaker  as 
something  that  may  have  a  texture  of  its  own.  Let 
us  see  what  that  means.  When  we  studied  the  emotions, 
we  found  that  any  emotion  arises  from  an  attitude  of  mind. 
Next  we  found  that  an  emotion  develops  from  an  attitude 
of  mind  in  proportion  as  that  attitude  of  mind  affects  the 
physical  being  of  the  person  whose  mind  has  taken  the 
attitude.  When  the  body  of  the  speaker  is  thus  affected, 
it  is  found  that  his  muscles  have  taken  on  a  certain  texture. 

We  need  not  be  reminded  that  If  the  speaker  speak  at 
this  moment  his  voice  will  have  the  same  texture  as  his 
muscles  have.  Everyone  has  seen  this  illustrated.  If  the 
speaker's  muscles  relax  in  response  to  a  kindly  attitude  of 
the  speaker's  mind,  the  voice  becomes  soft  and  tender.  If 
his  muscles  grow  hard  in  response  to  a  severe  or  hard 
attitude  of  his  mind,  the  voice  becomes  hard,  etc.  Ac- 
cordingly, if  the  texture  of  the  speaker's  voice  is  determined 
by  the  texture  of  his  muscles  at  the  moment,  and  if  the 


556  TONE-TEXTURE   AND   TOUCH 

texture  of  his  muscles,  at  that  moment,  is  determined  by 
his  purpose  toward  the  thing  contemplated,  it  is  reasonable 
to  say  that  the  purpose  of  the  speaker  has  a  texture  of 
its  own. 

These  observations  demonstrate  the  fact  that  between 
emotion  and  tone-texture  there  is  an  intimate  relationship. 
We  perceive  that  tone-texture  of  practical  value  cannot  be 
said  to  exist  until  the  speaker's  mind  has  assumed  a  decided 
attitude;  also  that  the  growth  of  the  tone-texture  is  in 
proportion  as  the  impulses  of  the  speaker's  body  support 
the  attitude  of  his  mind.  Now  these  are  the  very  condi- 
tions which  create  and  develop  emotion.  From  all  which 
we  derive  the  conclusion: 

Tone-texture  is  a  manifestation  in  the  speaker's  voice, 
of  the  emotion  which  he  at  that  moment  experiences. 

It  might  even  be  called  one  of  the  voices  of  emotion,  one 
of  the  few  impressive  ways  in  which  the  emotion  of  the 
speaker  can  go  out  to  the  listener.  Since  the  results  of  a 
speaker's  effort  will  be  determined  largely  by  the  degree 
to  which  he  stirs  and  directs  the  emotions  of  his  hearers, 
surely  tone-texture  is  too  important  to  be  neglected  in  his 
work. 

The  relationship  of  tone-texture  to  emotion  exemplifies 
the  relationship  of  tone-texture  to  bodily  action.  Since 
emotion  grows  strong  in  proportion  as  bodily  action  sup- 
ports the  attitude  of  the  mind,  and  since  tone-texture  is  an 
evidence,  in  the  voice,  of  the  emotion  felt,  we  deduce  that : 

Tone-texture  cannot  be  what  it  should  be  until  the 
whole  physical  being  of  the  speaker  comes  to  support 
his  emotions  in  free  unaffected  bodily  action. 


RELATION   OF   TONE-TEXTURE  557 


RELATION  OF  TONE-TEXTURE  TO  "  THE  QUALITIES  " 
OF   THE   VOICE 

Most  writers  have  treated  tone-texture  under  the  name 
of  "quality."  Much  effort  has  been  made  to  discover  how 
many  of  these  "qualities"  of  the  voice  there  are,  and  the 
eight  qualities  (the  number  generally  agreed  upon)  have 
received  much  attention,  devoted  mostly,  however,  to  a 
consideration  of  the  physical  make-up  of  the  qualities.  The 
chief  concern  has  been  to  discover  what  peculiar  function 
the  breath  has  in  producing  any  or  all  of  the  eight  quali- 
ties. Students  have  been  required  to  learn  that  the  qualities 
are  the  pectoral,  the  orotund,  the  guttural,  the  falsetto,  the 
aspirate,  the  normal,  the  oral,  and  the  nasal.  It  has  been 
taught  that  each  quality  is  caused  by  a  peculiar  resonance. 
By  resonance  is  meant  the  principal  volume  of  air  set  in 
motion  within  the  vocal  apparatus  which  extends  from  the 
bottom  of  the  lungs  to  the  lips  and  the  tip  of  the  nose. 
It  has  been  shown  that  the  pectoral  quality,  the  "sepulchral" 
tone,  for  example,  is  produced  when  the  resonance  of  the 
voice  is  in  the  lower  chest;  the  orotund,  the  "round, 
strong"  tone,  when  the  resonance  is  in  the  upper  chest; 
the  oral,  the  "effeminate"  tone,  when  the  resonance  is  in 
the  front  part  of  the  mouth,  etc.  Each  of  the  eight  quali- 
ties has  been  accounted  for  in  a  similar  manner.  The 
location  of  resonance  has  been  considered  the  cause  of 
quality  of  the  voice,  whatever  that  quality  may  be. 

Authors  who  have  advocated  this,  have  hardly  realized 
how  bad  would  be  the  effect  of  that  principle,  on  students 
of  speech.  Such  a  principle  virtually  acknowledges  that 


558  TONE-TEXTURE   AND   TOUCH 

the  thinking  process  of  the  speaker  has  nothing  to  do  in 
forming  the  texture  or  "quality"  of  the  speaker's  voice. 
Worse  than  that,  it  virtually  declares  to  the  student  that 
when  he  wishes  to  develop  or  to  use  any  particular  texture 
of  his  voice,  he  must  deliberately  interrupt  the  trend  of 
his  thinking  and  call  in  his  will-power  to  cause  the  voice 
to  have  a  certain  resonance.  To  what  will  this  lead  us? 
To  keep  his  voice  alive,  the  speaker  must  have  some  texture 
for  every  utterance.  If  his  thinking  process  must  be  in- 
terrupted in  order  to  produce  the  "qualities,"  or  the  tex- 
tures, then  he  can  have  no  time  left  for  the  thinking  which 
his  theme  demands.  He  becomes  a  mere  machine,  a  mere 
phonograph  sounding  forth  the  "qualities." 

Some  writers  have  detected  the  serious  error  in  teaching 
the  qualities  in  this  manner,  and  have  tried  to  correct  it 
by  analyzing  and  classifying  the  various  sentiments  which 
the  respective  qualities  express.  They  tell  us  that  the 
pectoral  quality  expresses  reverence,  awe,  sublimity,  dread, 
horror,  amazement,  etc. ;  and  that  if  we  wish  to  speak  in 
this  quality  we  must  think  of  one  of  these  sentiments.  This 
seems  to  be  a  step  in  the  right  direction,  doesn't  it?  But 
does  even  this  give  the  best  assistance  to  the  speaker?  Let 
the  student  test  it  and  he  will  discover  that  such  a  process 
does  give  texture  or  quality  to  his  voice  but  that  it  diverts 
the  mind  from  the  thing  about  which  he  should  be  thinking. 
The  thoughtful  student  invariably  asks:  "Are  we  con- 
scious of  the  particular  emotion  or  'sentiment*  we  are 
expressing  at  the  moment  when  we  express  that  emotion? 
And  when  we  are  conscious  of  it,  is  it  uppermost  in  our 
minds?"  We  all  know  that  the  thing  producing  that  emo-* 
tion  is  uppermost  in  our  minds.  If,  then,  it  is  necessary 


RELATION   OF  TONE-TEXTURE  559 

for  the  speaker  so  far  to  forget  the  thing  which  might 
produce  the  emotion,  as  to  turn  his  mind  to  the  emotion 
itself  and  try  deliberately  to  create  that  emotion,  out  of 
nothing,  to  give  to  his  voice  the  right  "quality,"  what  value 
will  the  emotion  itself  have?  What  value  will  the  thinking 
process  of  the  speaker,  at  that  moment,  have?  Evidently 
to  consider  either  the  "resonance"  or  the  "sentiment"  as 
the  cause  of  "quality"  or  tone-texture,  is  to  miss  the  real 
cause.  Such  causes  as  these  do  not  lie  in  the  free  thought- 
process  but  in  a  deliberate  use  of  the  will;  and  such  use 
of  the  will  makes  the  speaker  a  poorer  instead  of  a  better 
thinker. 

The  errors  here  considered  are  not  in  the  nature  of 
untruth.  Authors  who  have  treated  quality  or  tone-texture 
in  the  manner  outlined  above,  have  not  spoken  falsehoods 
regarding  the  voice.  Their  discoveries  are  true  as  far  as 
they  go.  The  voice  does  have  different  resonances  in  ex- 
pressing different  emotions.  The  error  lies  in  the  fact 
that  both  these  things,  resonance  and  emotion,  are  re- 
sultants from  certain  acts  of  the  mind  rather  than  causes 
in  themselves.  Resonance  and  emotion  happen,  occur, 
along  with  tone-texture,  all  three  resulting  from  the  same 
causes.  These  causes,  as  we  have  already  learned,  are  the 
nature  of  the  things  about  which  the  speaker  is  speaking 
and  the  attitude  of  the  speaker's  mind  and  body  toward 
those  things.  To  slight  these  causes  and  try  to  produce 
tone-texture  in  any  other  way,  is  to  depart  from  nature's 
method  and  offer  to  the  listener  a  poor  substitute  for  the 
tone-texture  he  should  receive  from  the  speaker. 


560  TONE-TEXTURE  AND  TOUCH 


Practice  in  Speaking  on  Tone-texture 

Put  into  practical  use  the  ideas  gained  from  this  chapter, 
by  outlining  the  above  discussion  and  then  preparing  to 
speak  extempore  both  on  the  various  divisions  of  your  out- 
line, separately,  and  on  the  chapter  as  a  whole.  Make 
the  speeches  yours  by  using  illustrations  of  your  own  and  by 
putting  tone-texture  to  its  various  uses  in  your  discus- 
sions. 


Experiments  to  Develop  Tone-texture 

It  is  best  to  begin  with  something  simpler  than  an 
original  speech  or  a  selection  from  literature.  At  first,  it 
is  enough  for  the  voice  to  do,  to  take  on  the  texture  of 
single,  concrete  things,  about  which  the  mind  of  the  speaker 
is  thinking,  without  trying  to  make  a  speech  at  the  same 
time. 

I.  As  the  first  experiment  in  tone-texture,  observe  fifteen 
different  articles  having  as  wide  a  range  of  textures  as  you 
can  find.  As  you  observe  each  one  of  these,  get  as  clear 
a  conception  of  the  density  and  firmness  of  the  thing  ob- 
served, as  possible,  by  striking  on  it,  pressing  it,  striking  it 
against  something  else,  etc.  When  you  feel  that  your  con- 
ception is  so  clear  that  you  can  make  someone  else  conceive 
the  texture  of  that  thing,  from  your  description  of  it,  de- 
scribe its  texture.  As  you  do  so,  keep  your  mind  so  firmly 
centered  on  the  texture  of  the  thing  described,  and  imagine 
so  clearly  how  you  would  feel  if  you  had  that  texture, 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  TONE-TEXTURE  561 

that  your  voice  spontaneously  becomes  of  the  same  texture 
as  the  thing  you  describe.  When  you  have  treated  the 
fifteen  articles  in  this  manner,  with  them  before  you,  then 
try  the  experiment  with  only  imaginary  articles  before  you. 

2.  Second  experiment.    Select  ten  of  the  things  used  in 
experiment  I,  which  you  can  imagine  yourself  putting  to 
such  definite  use  that  your  mind  is  now  centered  on  the 
use  you  make  of  the  articles  rather  than  the  texture  of  the 
article  itself.    For  example,  you  can  imagine  yourself  pick- 
ing up  a  flint  rock,  the  only  thing  at  hand,  and  laying  it  on 
the  wound  of  a  friend  to  stop  the  flow  of  blood.    In  such 
an  act,  your  mind  loses  all  thought  of  the  texture  of  the 
flint — though  the  flint  is  one  of  the  hardest  materials  to  be 
thought  of — and  thinks  only  of  the  gentleness  and  softness 
of  the  manner  in  which  that  flint  should  be  used.    In  each 
of  these  experiments,  try  to  use  something  the  texture  of 
which  is  decidedly  different  from  the  texture  of  your  pur- 
pose in  using  that  thing,  and  center  your  mind  so  firmly 
on  the  use  to  which  you  put  that  thing,  that  you  become 
unconscious  of  the  texture  of  the  thing  itself.     If  this  is 
done  successfully,  your  voice  will  unconsciously  take  on 
the  texture  of  your  purpose. 

3.  Third  experiment.     Repeat  experiment   I   from  the 
chapter  on  Vocal  Movement.    First  try  the  experiment  for 
movement,  to  make  sure  that  you  can  still  fully  revive  and 
enter  into  all  the  movements  described.     When  you  have 
done  this,  perform  the  experiment  again,  this  time  trying 
not  only  to  imagine  how  you  would  feel  if  you  were  making 
the  movements  described,  but  trying  also  to  imagine  how 
tense  or  how  relaxed,  how  hard  or  how  soft,  your  muscles 
would  have  to  be  to  perform  the  movements  you  describe. 


562  TONE-TEXTURE  AND  TOUCH 

Think  of  the  various  textures  as  a  very  part  of  the  move- 
ments you  describe,  and  describe  them  as  such.  Repeat  the 
experiment  until  your  tone-texture  gives  as  strong  emphasis 
to  your  description  as  movement  does.  This  experiment, 
well  done,  not  only  gives  you  the  advantage  of  making  fur- 
ther use  of  work  already  done,  but  becomes  an  easy  and 
natural  step  from  that  work  to  the  new  work  of  building 
tone-texture. 

4.  Fourth  experiment.     Repeat  experiment  2  from  the 
chapter  on  Vocal  Movement.     First  perform  the  experi- 
ment to  perfect  your  pauses.     Perform  it  again  to  perfect 
your  changes  of  pitch  and  inflection.  Try  it  a  third  time,  to 
make  sure  that  subordination  and  movement  are  serving 
you  well.    When  you  are  sure  that  all  these  other  modes  of 
emphasis  are  doing  full  duty,  present  your  speech  mentally 
without  vocalizing  it.    As  you  do  so,  be  quick  to  sense  why 
it  is  that  you  are  presenting  each  think  spoken  of.    It  is  to 
show  the  inner  nature  of  that  thing,  or  to  make  some  use 
of  that  thing?    If  it  is  a  thing  whose  inner  nature  you  wish 
to  show  to  the  audience,  realize  that  the  success  of  your 
speech  at  that  point,  depends  largely  on  your  making  the 
audience  feel  the  texture  of  that  thing.     If  it  is  a  thing 
you  present  only  to  show  the  audience  how  you  intend 
to  use  it,  realize  that  the  success  of  your  speech  at  that 
point,  depends  largely  on  your  making  your  audience  feel 
the  texture  of  your  purpose  toward  that  thing.    When  you 
have  perfected  your  speech  in  this  manner,  present  it  aloud. 

5.  Further  develop  your  ability  to  use  tone-texture  as  a 
strong    means    of    emphasis,    by    experimenting,    in    the 
thorough  manner  outlined  in  experiment  4,  above,  in  read- 
ing and  reciting  the  following  selections. 


EXPERIMENTS  TO  DEVELOP  TONE-TEXTURE  563 
First  use  this  group  of  short  numbers : 


I  wield  the  flail  of  the  lashing  hail,  and  whiten  the  green 
plains  under:  and  then  again  I  dissolve  it  in  rain,  and  laugh 
as  I  pass  in  thunder. — Shelley. 

Poems  are  painted  window  panes.  If  one  looks  from  the 
square  into  the  church,  dusk  and  dimness  are  his  gains;  Sir 
Philistine  is  left  in  the  lurch !  The  sight,  so  seen,  may  well 
enrage  him,  not  anything  henceforth  assuage  him.  But  come 
just  inside  what  conceals;  cross  the  holy  threshold  quite;  all 
at  once  'tis  rainbow-bright,  devise  and  story  flash  to  light,  a 
gracious  splendor  truth  reveals.  This,  to  God's  children,  is 
full  measure,  it  edifies  and  gives  you  pleasure. — Goethe. 

Now  leaps  the  wind  on  the  sleepy  marsh,  and  tramples  the 
grass  with  terrified  feet;  the  startled  river  turns  leaden  and 
harsh,  you  can  hear  the  quick  heart  of  the  tempest  beat. — 
Anonymous. 

Follow  these  short  numbers  by  conceiving  and  building 
the  remarkable  tone-textures  in  these  lines: 

Hats  off!  Along  the  street  there  comes  a  blare  of  bugles, 
a  ruffle  of  drums,  a  flash  of  color  beneath  the  sky :  Hats  off ! 
The  flag  is  passing  by ! 

Blue  and  crimson  and  white  it  shines,  over  the  steel-tipped, 
ordered  lines.  Hats  off!  The  colors  before  us  fly;  but  more 
than  the  flag  is  passing  by. 

Sea-fights  and  land-fights,  grim  and  great,  fought  to  make 
and  to  save  the  State:  weary  marches  and  sinking  ships;  cheers 
of  victory  on  dying  lips ; 

Days  of  plenty  and  years  of  peace;  march  of  a  strong  land's 
swift  increase;  equal  justice,  right  and  law,  stately  honor  and 
reverend  awe; 

Sign  of  a  nation,  great  and  strong  to  ward  her  people  from 
foreign  wrong:  pride  and  glory  and  honor — all  live  in  the 
colors,  to  stand  or  fall. 

Hats  off!  Along  the  street  there  comes  a  blare  of.bugles, 
a  ruffle  of  drums ;  and  loyal  hearts  are  beating  high :  Hats  off ! 
The  flag  is  passing  by. — From  The  Flag  Goes  By,  by  Henry 
Holcomb  Bennett. 


564  TONE-TEXTURE  AND  TOUCH 

Unusual  opportunities  for  developing  tone-texture  will 
also  be  found  in  the  following:  The  Bells,  by  Edgar 
Allan  Poe ;  My  Star,  Meeting  at  Night  and  Home  Thoughts 
from  Abroad,  by  Browning;  Crossing  the  Bar,  by  Tenny- 
son; and  The  Tables  Turned,  by  Wordsworth. 


TOUCH 

In  addition  to  the  six  modes  of  emphasis  which  we  have 
now  studied,  the  speaker  needs  such  a  process  of  mind  as 
will  control  and  place  his  energies.  This  mode  of  emphasis 
which  manifests  this  process  of  mind  we  call  Touch,  that 
firm  but  delicate  stroke  of  the  voice  which  emphasizes, 
more  than  single  ideas,  the  emotional  fullness  of  the  mes- 
sage, and  the  speaker's  control  of  that  emotion. 

LAWS  GOVERNING  TOUCH 

1.  A  strong  desire  within  the  speaker  instantly  to  help 
the  listener  by  holding  him  back  from  something  unde- 
sirable, if  ruled  by  a  clear  conception  of  the  restraint 
needed,  will  produce  Touch  in  the  voice. 

2.  A  strong   desire   within   the    speaker    to   urge   the 
listener  forward   to   something   desirable,   will   produce 
Touch  in  the  speaker's  voice  only  when  the  speaker  con- 
ceives clearly  the  strength  the  listener  needs,  and  earn- 
estly tries   to   help   the   listener   get  and   control  that 
strength. 

3.  A  strong  desire  within  the  speaker  to  express  ap- 
proval of  something  already  accomplished  will  produce 
Touch  only  when  the  speaker  is  ruled  by  a  clear  concep- 


TOUCH  565 

tion  of  the  controlled  energy  put  into  that  accom- 
plishment. 

4.  When  affected  by  grief  or  any  other  emotion  that 
tends  to  destroy  his  powers,  the  speaker  will  have  Touch 
in  his  voice  in  proportion  as  he  faiths  the  strength  needed 
to  master  the  emotion. 

These  four  undertakings,  (i)  to  save  the  listener  from 
an  undesirable  thing,  (2)  to  urge  the  listener  forward  to 
the  accomplishment  of  a  desirable  thing,  (3)  to  express 
approval  of  something  accomplished,  (4)  to  retain  strength 
in  great  need,  are  all  strongly  emotional.  The  stronger  the 
emotion,  the  greater  the  demand  for  touch.  The  central 
word  of  a  phrase  calls  for  more  touch  than  any  other  word ; 
the  central  phrase  in  a  sentence,  for  more  than  any  other 
phrase;  and  the  central  sentence  in  a  paragraph,  for  more 
than  any  other  sentence  in  that  paragraph. 

DEVELOPMENT  OF  TOUCH 

The  development  of  touch  depends  upon  the  laws  of 
constructive  emotion  and  of  strength  and  endurance  of 
voice  (found  in  the  chapters  on  these  subjects),  and  upon 
the  laws  of  Touch,  stated  above.  The  best  development  of 
touch  can  be  attained  only  after  the  other  six  modes  of 
emphasis  have  been  developed,  especially  Subordination, 
Vocal  Movement,  and  Tone-texture. 

Experiments  To  Develop  Touch 

Test  your  ability  to  use  Touch  impressively  in  each  of 
the  original  speeches  you  have  prepared  which  embodied 
strong  feeling,  Experiment  i,  in  the  emotion  of  Courage, 


566  TONE-TEXTURE  AND  TOUCH 

p.  366;  i,  in  the  emotion  of  Pathos,  p.  372,  and  2,  in  Vocal 
Movement,  p.  547,  etc.,  also  the  selections  from  literature 
used  in  these  same  chapters,  and  the  following:  The  Lost 
Leader,  and  One  Way  of  Love,  by  Browning;  parts  III 
and  IV  of  The  Lady  of  Shalott,  by  Tennyson ;  The  Three 
Fishers,  by  Charles  Kingsley;  The  Conquered  Banner,  by 
Abram  J.  Ryan ;  and  Psalm  XXIII. 

Practice,  in  accordance  with  the  laws  stated,  until  your 
fullness  of  feeling  and  of  control,  gives  that  delicately 
Poised  Power,  that  commands  while  it  pleases,  that  is 
Touch,  the  crowning  glory  of  good  speaking,  and  you 
will  make  your  speech  more  lucid  and  more  persuasive. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
PERSONALITY  AND  PERSUASION 

WE  have  now  concluded  the  last  chapter  on  the  technical 
work  of  preparing  to  speak.  That  chapter  ends  with  the 
word  "persuasive."  It  is  fitting  that  it  should  do  so;  for 
all  true  preparation  for  effective  speaking  will  end  in  mak- 
ing the  speaker  more  persuasive. 

Let  us  look  backward,  for  a  moment,  to  see  how  far  we 
have  come,  along  the  road  to  effective  speaking.  If  you 
have  done  thoroughly  the  work  outlined  in  the  preceding 
chapters,  you  are  probably  ready  to  declare  that  you  have 
acquired  a  serviceable  Method  by  which  to  study,  prepare, 
and  present  a  speech.  We  hope,  however,  that  this  is  not 
all  you  have  accomplished ;  for  mere  method,  however  good, 
can  never  make  a  really  effective  or  really  great  speaker. 
The  faculty,  above  all  others,  that  makes  a  speaker  truly 
successful  and  truly  great,  is  that  of  Persuasion;  and  it  is 
the  speaker's  Personality  that  persuades.  Bishop  Bashford 
(in  his  admirable  essay,  "Oratory")  clearly  shows  that 
there  are  three  elements  which  make  up  Oratory,  namely, 
"the  Messenger,  the  Message,  and  the  Masses/9  Let  us  state 
this  thought  in  other  words  and  say  that  the  sources  of 
Effective  Speaking  are  the  Personality,  the  Purpose,  and 

567 


568  PERSONALITY  AND  PERSUASION 

the  People.  By  intelligent  study  of  the  thing  called  per- 
sonality, we  learn  that  the  speaker's  ability  to  form  an 
effective  purpose,  and  his  ability  to  meet  and  serve  the 
people,  both  depend,  to  a  large  extent,  on  his  personality. 
Therefore,  no  matter  how  good  the  method  a  speaker  may 
have  developed,  for  acquiring  and  presenting  the  truth, 
if  he  has  not  developed  the  right  sort  of  personality,  his 
speaking  will  be,  at  best,  a  partial  failure.  For  this  reason, 
our  effort,  throughout  this  book,  has  been  to  make  method 
only  a  means  to  an  end.  The  real  end  toward  which  we 
have  endeavored  to  help  the  student,  is  Personality.  The 
preceding  chapters  have  been  an  effort  to  start  the  de- 
velopment of  the  personality  which  the  intending  speaker 
will  need,  to  win  full  success.  It  has  been  impossible,  in 
this  short  time,  to  do  anything  more  than  start  that  de- 
velopment. 

Herein  lies  the  need  and  purpose  of  the  present  chapter 
— to  outline  for  the  student  of  speech  the  work  which  lies 
before  him,  and  to  help  him  to  start  intelligently  upon  that 
work,  which  is,  in  a  word,  to  complete  what  he  has  already 
begun — the  development  of  personality. 

In  the  preceding  chapters  we  have  barely  mentioned 
Personality.  We  have  purposely  refrained  from  doing  so, 
for  two  reasons,  i.  In  the  early  stages  of  its  development, 
one  of  the  surest  ways  to  check  the  growth  of  personality, 
is  to  turn  the  student's  mind  to  thinking  about  his  per- 
sonality and  consciously  trying  to  develop  it.  2.  When  the 
work  for  developing  personality  has  been  carefully  and 
progressively  outlined  for  the  student,  as  we  have  en- 
deavored to  outline  it  in  this  book,  and  when  that  work 
is  pursued  under  the  careful  supervision  of  a  teacher,  the 


DEFINITION  OF  PERSONALITY  569 

personality  will  develop  without  the  student's  paying  con- 
scious attention  to  it. 

In  the  work  of  life,  which  now  lies  before  the  speaker, 
however,  the  conditions  are  different.  His  work  will  not  be 
outlined  for  him  as  the  work  he  has  been  pursuing.  He 
must  seek  things  out  by  himself — seek  and  find  and  use 
such  things,  in  life,  as  will  engage  and  strengthen  his 
personality — use  them  in  such  manner  as  to  give  his  per- 
sonality the  best  opportunity  to  grow.  He  will  be  able  to 
do  these  things  the  better  if  he  first  understand  the  nature 
of  his  personality  and  then  investigate  the  nature  of  the 
things  which  conduce  to  its  best  growth.  The  intending 
speaker  who  has  performed,  in  a  thorough  manner,  the 
tasks  outlined  in  the  preceding  chapters,  should  now  be 
ready  to  pay  more  direct  attention  to  his  personality.  Let 
the  first  inquiry  be  directed  to  the 


DEFINITION  OF  PERSONALITY 

I.  Professor  Home  (Philosophy  of  Education,  p.  186) 
says:  "Personality  is  the  spirit  that  unifies  the  attain- 
ments of  a  man ;  it  is  his  attitude  toward  life,  his  point  of 
view,  his  total  character."  Here  we  have,  not  a  single 
definition,  but  four,  or  at  least  three,  definitions,  all  in 
one — the  four  attributes  named  are  similar  and  closely  re- 
lated but  not,  strictly  speaking,  identical.  This  definition 
suggests  that  different  persons  may  define  Personality  in 
quite  different  ways.  2.  Dr.  Prince  (The  Dissociation  of 
a  Personality,  p.  73)  speaks  of  it  as  "that  great  group  of 
perceptions  and  memories  which,  at  any  given  moment, 


570  PERSONALITY  AND  PERSUASION 

makes  up  the  ego  or  personality."  According  to  this  defini- 
tion, personality  means  practically  the  same  as  the  contents 
of  the  mind,  which  is  hardly  the  same  as  any  one  of  the 
four  things  included  in  Professor  Home's  definition.  3. 
The  Standard  Dictionary  has  this  definition:  "The  at- 
tributes, taken  collectively,  that  make  up  the  character  and 
nature  of  an  individual."  This,  as  you  see,  tends  to  in- 
clude all  that  is  found  in  both  the  first  and  second  defini- 
tions cited,  and,  perhaps,  a  little  more ;  for  when  the  author 
of  this  definition  speaks  of  the  "character  and  nature"  of 
an  individual,  he  means,  apparently,  not  only  to  point  out 
that  man  is  good  or  bad  within  himself,  but  also  to  con- 
sider his  disposition  toward  others.  For  instance,  he  would 
probably  say  of  one  man  that  he  is  a  good  man  and  kind; 
of  another,  that  he  is  good  but  severe.  4.  Robertson 
(Sermons,  Series  IV;  Sermon  IV,  p.  804)  says:  "Per- 
sonality is  made  up  of  three  attributes — consciousness, 
character  and  will."  This  makes  personality  a  still  larger 
thing.  It  includes  not  only  what  a  man  is  (his  character), 
but  also  the  impressions  which  things  around  him  make 
on  him  (his  consciousness  of  them),  and  the  choice  he 
makes  of  the  things  which  impress  him  (his  will  concerning 
them). 

You  have  probably  already  discovered  that,  while  each 
succeeding  definition,  of  the  four  quoted  above,  comes  some- 
what nearer  to  the  idea  you  may  have  had,  yet  not  one  of 
them  seems  to  set  forth  clearly  the  meaning  of  "person- 
ality" as  we  are  accustomed  to  hear  the  word  in  general 
usage.  Let  us  examine  some  of  the  ways  in  which  we  use 
this  word  and  hear  it  used.  We  frequently  hear  some 
person  say  of  another:  "He  has  no  personality";  or  we 


DEFINITION  OF  PERSONALITY  57! 

hear  of  another  person,  "he  has  a  winning  personality"; 
of  another,  that,  "while  his  personality  is  strong,  it  is  not 
quite  pleasing" ;  of  another,  "his  personality  is  strong 
but  never  quick  or  ready" ;  of  still  another,  "you  feel 
his  personality  whenever  you  are  near  him."  Through  all 
these  and  many  other  expressions  concerning  personality, 
with  which  we  are  familiar,  there  seems  to  run  one  common 
principle  which  shows  the  general  idea  of  personality  to  be 
different  from  all  the  ideas  contained  in  the  definitions 
we  have  quoted.  All  those  definitions  treat  the  different 
attributes  within  the  self;  common  usage,  on  the  contrary, 
seems  to  regard  personality  as  the  effect  or  influence  which 
the  attributes  within  a  man  exert  upon  those  around  him. 
5.  This  idea  is  also  set  forth  by  Professor  Putnam  who 
(A  Manual  of  Pedagogics,  p.  255)  says:  "Personality  is 
used  to  denote  the  influence,  force,  or  power,  which  one 
exerts,  or  may  exert,  in  consequence  of  his  individuality. 
It  is  the  result  of  individuality  rather  than  individuality 
alone."  6.  F.  X.  Carmody,  of  the  New  York  Bar,  in  his 
interesting  essay  on  "Personality  in  the  Oration,"  voices 
very  much  the  same  idea  in  these  words:  "Personality  is 
the  reaction  which  the  individual  makes  to  the  sense-im- 
pressions crowding  in  upon  him." 

The  present  writer's  conviction  is  that  this  last  definition 
comes  the  nearest  of  all  to  expressing  what  is  in  the 
average  mind  when  that  mind  thinks  of  personality.  Yet 
even  this  definition  seems  to  lack  something.  In  fact,  in 
these  definitions,  as  is  almost  always  the  case  when  op- 
posing ideas  are  found  concerning  the  same  substance,  each 
of  the  opposing  ideas  needs  the  other.  We  first  quoted 
from  a  class  of  men  who  regard  personality  as  what  a 


572  PERSONALITY  AND  PERSUASION 

man  is  within  himself.  We  next  considered  the  opinions 
of  men  who  define  personality  as  the  action  of  man  toward 
people  and  things  around  him.  Now  is  not  personality 
both  these  things?  Examine  your  real  meaning  whenever 
you  speak  of  anyone  as  having  a  strong  or  weak,  winning 
or  repellent  personality,  and  you  will  probably  find  that 
your  idea  of  that  individual  includes  both  what  he  is  within 
himself  and  what  that  self  of  his  tends  to  do  toward  its 
environment.  Therefore,  we  are  bold  enough  to  venture 
a  seventh  definition: 

7.  Personality  is  man  made  strong,  ready,  and  re- 
sponsive in  proportion  as  he  reacts  to  the  sense-impres- 
sions he  receives. 

THE   DIFFERENCE   BETWEEN   PERSONALITY,    INDI- 
VIDUALITY,  AND   CHARACTER 

This  last  definition  of  personality  declares  it  to  be  a 
different  thing,  and  a  stronger  thing,  than  either  indi- 
viduality or  character.  One's  individuality  is  that  which 
differentiates  him  from  other  individuals.  We  all  know 
individuals  who  accomplish  nearly  every  thing  they  at- 
tempt, in  so  eccentric  or  individual  a  manner,  that  we 
should,  unhesitatingly,  say  of  them  that  they  have  highly 
developed  individuality.  Yet  we  should  hardly  call  some 
of  these  same  persons  strong  personalities — they  respond  so 
little  or  so  slowly  or  so  weakly  to  their  environment.  It 
is  evident  that  people,  in  general,  are  accustomed  to  think 
of  personality  as  something  stronger,  more  desirable,  and 
more  useful  than  mere  individuality.  Our  definition  for 
personality  proves  this  opinion  to  be  well  founded. 


PERSONALITY,    INDIVIDUALITY,    CHARACTER    573 

What,  now,  is  the  difference  between  Personality  and 
Character?  To  answer  this  question  intelligently,  we  must 
first  have  a  clear  conception  of  what  we  mean  by  Char- 
acter. Dr.  James  (Talks  to  Teachers,  p.  184)  says: 
"Character  consists  in  an  organized  set  of  habits  of  reac- 
tion." Dr.  Thorndike  (Human  Nature  Club,  p.  143)  says: 
"When  we  say  that  anyone  has  such  and  such  a  character, 
we  don't  mean  that  he  has  any  thing  in  him  which  cor- 
responds to  the  word.  We  really  mean  to  express  briefly 
the  history  of  his  behavior  and  to  make  a  prophecy  con- 
cerning his  future."  While  very  differently  worded,  these 
two  definitions  point  to  the  same  thing,  namely,  the  law- 
fulness or  lawlessness,  the  regularity  or  irregularity,  with 
which  an  individual  is  accustomed  to  act.  If  we  could 
illustrate  man  by  likening  him  to  an  electrical  machine  sus- 
ceptible of  a  great  variety  of  adjustments,  then  these 
definitions  would  make  "character"  refer  to  the  peculiar 
adjustment  of  the  machine  which  makes  it  almost  sure  to 
act  in  a  certain  way.  Personality,  on  the  contrary,  would 
refer,  not  to  the  manner  in  which  the  machine  tends  to 
act,  but  to  the  power  which  the  machine  tends  to  exert 
when  it  acts.  Let  us,  then,  state  the  difference  between 
character  and  personality,  in  this  manner: 

Personality  is  applied  Character  or  Character  in  action. 

What  should  this  mean  to  the  speaker?  It  should  mean 
that,  however  much  individuality  and  character  he  may 
have,  these  can  make  of  him  an  effective  speaker  only  when 
he  learns  the  best  ways  in  which  to  apply  both  his  in- 
dividuality and  his  character  to  the  affairs  of  life,  so  as  to 
transform  them  both  into  strong,  active,  persuasive  per- 
sonality. 


574  PERSONALITY  AND  PERSUASION 


DIFFERENT  KINDS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Another  important  thing  concerning  which  we  must  get 
a  clear  understanding  before  we  can  develop  personality 
to  the  best  advantage,  is  that  there  are  different  kinds  of 
personalities.  By  this  we  do  not  mean  merely  that  there 
are  different  degrees  of  personality,  as  when  we  speak  of 
one  personality  as  being  stronger  or  weaker,  or  more  or 
less  attractive,  than  another.  We  mean  to  emphasize  the 
fact  that  personalities  differ  also  in  kind.  We  have  found 
that  personality  is  man  made  strong,  ready,  and  responsive 
in  proportion  as  he  reacts  to  the  sense-impressions  he  re- 
ceives. Now  if  man  had  but  one  nature  through  which 
to  react,  then  there  would  not  be  different  kinds — at  least, 
not  fundamentally  different  kinds — of  personalities;  but 
man  has  three  fairly  distinct  natures,  his  mental  nature, 
his  physical  nature,  and  his  spiritual  nature. 

Man  may  react  through  all  three  of  these  natures,  or 
he  may  react  almost  exclusively  through  only  one  of 
these  natures. 

If  he  does  the  latter,  then  his  kind  of  personality  will  be 
determined  by  the  nature  through  which  he  reacts.  In  other 
words,  he  will  have  principally  a  mental,  or  a  physical, 
or  a  spiritual  personality. 

Not  only  are  there  these  three  fundamental  kinds  of 
personality,  but  each  of  these  kinds  yields  various  other 
kinds  accordingly  as  the  principal  nature  through  which  a 
man  reacts,  occupies  itself  in  this  or  that  field  of  activity. 
We  see  these  facts  illustrated  on  every  hand.  Here  is  a 
man,  for  instance,  whose  reaction  to  sense-impressions  is 


DIFFERENT  KINDS  OF  PERSONALITY          575 

almost  wholly  through  his  mental  nature.  Not  only  this, 
but  his  mind  reacts  almost  exclusively  in  the  field  of 
finance.  What  is  the  result?  He  becomes  a  mental  per- 
sonality in  the  field  of  finance.  We  take  this  same  man 
over  into  the  field  of  art  and  what  do  we  find?  To  use 
the  common  expression  for  it,  we  find  that  "he  is  lost," 
"he  is  not  at  home  here,"  which  expressions  mean  that  he 
has  no  particular  personality  here.  It  would,  therefore,  be 
misleading  to  say  that  this  man  has  a  well-developed  per- 
sonality, without  further  defining  him,  even  though  he  has 
this  development  in  a  certain  limited  field.  Here  is  another 
man  whose  reaction  to  sense-impressions  is  principally 
through  his  physical  nature,  and  whose  activity  is  limited 
to  the  field  of  blacksmithing.  We  might  truly  say  of  him 
that  he  has  a  physical  personality;  but  we  would  speak 
much  more  accurately  of  him  if  we  should  say  that  he  has 
a  physical  personalty  for  blacksmithing,  for  if  we  test  him 
in  the  field  of  athletics,  another  field  where  physical  per- 
sonality abounds,  we  find  him  decidedly  deficient.  We  meet 
a  third  man  who  reacts  to  sense-impressions  chiefly  through 
his  spiritual  nature,  and  whose  activity  has  been  limited 
almost  entirely  to  work  in  the  pulpit.  Everyone  who  hears 
him  says  that  he  has  a  strong  spiritual  personality;  yet 
when  this  man  attempts  what  is  known  as  "pastoral  work/' 
another  field  where  the  spiritual  personality  is  certainly 
demanded,  he  is  an  utter  failure.  His  spiritual  personality 
here  seems  strangely  lacking.  Therefore,  to  speak  ac- 
curately concerning  his  personality,  we  should  say  that  he 
has  a  spiritual  personality  for  preaching. 

To  define  the  personality  of  any  one  of  these  three 
men,  we  must  not  only  name  it  by  the  particular  nature 


576  PERSONALITY  AND  PERSUASION 

which  is  most  active  in  this  man,  but  also  by  the  field 
in  which  his  most  active  nature  exerts  itself. 

This  same  principle  holds  true  with  regard  to  all  kinds 
of  limited  personalities.  The  intending  speaker  surely  need 
not  be  reminded  that,  if  he  hopes  to  become  efficient  in  the 
general  field  of  Public  Speaking,  he  must  develop  a  per- 
sonality that  is  broader  than  those  suggested  by  the  ex- 
amples we  have  just  cited. 

(The  diseased  personality,  which  has  been  the  subject  of 
study  and  experiment  by  some  of  the  world's  greatest 
psychologists,  physiologists,  and  physicians,  and  which  they 
have  come  to  call  "divided"  or  "dissociated"  personality,  is 
sometimes  the  outgrowth  of  such  limitation  as  we  have  sug- 
gested. Among  the  noted  men  who  have  given  much  attention 
to  the  study  of  abnormal  personalities,  are:  Professor  Alfred 
Binet,  Dr.  Edmund  Gurney,  Dr.  R.  Hodgson,  Dr.  Wm.  James, 
Drs.  Jules  and  Pierre  Janet,  Dr.  E.  E.  Mayer,  Dr.  S.  Wier 
Mitchell,  Dr.  F.  W.  H.  Myers,  Dr.  Morton  Prince,  and  Dr. 
Albert  Wilson.  If  the  student  desires  to  pursue  this  interesting 
study,  Dr.  Prince's  The  Dissociation  of  a  Personality,  will  be 
found  especially  attractive.) 


TWO  FUNDAMENTAL   DEFECTS   IN   PERSONALITY 

From  what  we  have  said,  it  appears  that  when  a  per- 
sonality fails  to  be  as  efficient  as  it  might  be,  it  probably 
fails  because  of  one  or  the  other  of  two  fundamental  faults. 
One  of  these  faults  is  suggested  by  the  definition.  From 
the  definition  of  personality  as  "man  made  strong,  ready, 
and  responsive  in  proportion  as  he  reacts  to  the  sense- 
impressions  he  receives,"  we  deduce  that: 

When  a  personality  is  weak,  its  weakness  is  caused 


TWO  FUNDAMENTAL  DEFECTS  IN  PERSONALITY  577 

by  inaction  or  weak  action  of  that  individual  in  respond- 
ing to  his  sense-impressions. 

The  second  fundamental  defect  in  personality  is  found 
in  the  above  discussion  of  Kinds  of  Personality.  In  that 
discussion,  it  appears  that : 

When  the  efficiency  of  a  personality  is  lessened  by 
that  personality's  being  limited,  so  that  only  a  part  of 
it  is  active,  the  defect  is  caused  by  over  action  of  that 
individual  in  some  narrow  or  isolated  line  of  activity. 

These  two  defects  in  personality  are  opposites.  Because 
they  are  opposites,  we  may,  by  removing  one  of  the  defects, 
at  the  same  time  increase  the  other.  For  instance,  here  is 
an  individual  who  reacts  so  little  and  so  feebly  to  any  sense- 
impression,  that  he  seems  to  possess  hardly  any  person- 
ality. We  succeed  in  interesting  him  in  some  single  line 
of  activity  (for  it  is  always  necessary  to  start  with  one 
thing,  no  matter  how  much  we  may  hope  to  broaden  the 
mind  later).  Watch  the  development.  This  individual 
is  pleased  with  his  experience.  He  likes  to  react  to  the 
thing  in  which  he  has  become  interested,  and  tends  to 
react  more  and  more.  But  how  does  he  tend  to  react? 
He  tends  to  react  to  that  one  activity.  The  result  is,  that 
he  soon  begins  to  have  a  more  marked  personality,  but  only 
in  that  one  narrow  line  of  activity.  In  other  words,  he 
has  started  a  limitation  of  his  own  personality;  while  re- 
moving the  first  defect,  he  is  increasing  the  second. 


578  PERSONALITY  AND  PERSUASION 


INDIVIDUALITY,  THE  BASIS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Yet,  notwithstanding  this  tendency  of  the  individual  to 
over-individualize,  that  is,  to  run  to  extremes  of  reacting 
along  certain  lines,  the  first  requisite  is: 

React,  and  react  strongly,  to  the  things  with  which 
one  comes  in  contact,  even  if  the  reaction  does  go  to 
extremes. 

This  is  equivalent  to  saying  that  strength  of  individuality 
must  be  started  as  a  basis  on  which  to  build  personality. 
The  individual  must  first  come  to  kno  v  himself  as  himself, 
an  individual  force,  capable  of  exerting  a  certain  influence 
on  things  around  him. 

Professor  Betts  (Social  Principles  of  Education,  p.  220) 
says:  "Perhaps  the  first  step  in  the  conscious  realization 
of  the  self,  is  self-appreciation,  or  a  recognition  of  the 
worth  of  the  person/'  Professor  Ross  (Social  Control, 
p.  277)  says:  "Faith  in  one's  self,  and  imagination  are 
the  real  architects  of  vast  personal  authority."  Both  as- 
sertions are  true.  One  cannot  realize  his  larger  self  until 
he  first  learns  to  appreciate  himself  and  to  have  great  faith 
in  himself.  Both  these  can  best  be  gained  through  testing 
himself  by  doing  something  with  the  things  around  him. 

Strong  testimony  to  the  truth  of  this,  is  found  in  the 
fact  that  many  individuals  who  are  illiterate,  but  whose 
lives  have  been  given  to  "doing  something"  with  the  things 
around  them,  have  far  stronger  personalities  than  other  in- 
dividuals, highly  educated,  whose  lives  have  been  marked 
by  inaction.  Professor  Huey  (Psychology  and  Pedagogy 
of  Reading,  p.  8)  emphasizes  the  fact  that  a  serious 


THE  BASIS  OF  PERSONALITY  579 

tendency  to  degeneracy  of  the  race  is  resulting  from  too 
much  and  wrong  reading.  Later  (Ibid.,  p.  362)  he  sets 
forth  the  principle  by  which  this  is  coming  about,  by 
stating  that  much  reading  often  brings  on  habitual  inac- 
tion and  indecision  and  results  in  disintegration  of  the  mind 
because  of  a  lack  of  organizing  and  acting  upon  the  ideas 
read. 

This  is  a  very  important  truth,  especially  to  the  speaker, 
for  he  must  read  much.  Unless  the  reader  takes  time  to 
preserve  his  individuality  by  assuming  definite  and  strong 
attitudes  toward  everything  about  which  he  reads,  and 
unless  he  puts  what  he"  reads  into  some  definite  use  in 
action,  much  reading  will  diminish  instead  of  developing 
his  personality. 

He  must  react  to  what  he  reads  as  fully  as  to  the 
things  around  him. 

Finally,  if  a  person  wishes  to  lay  the  foundation  for 
an  effective  personality,  by  developing  strong  individuality, 
he  must  have  some  clear  and  strong  personal  ideals.  Pro- 
fessor Kirkpatrick  (The  Individual  in  the  Making,  p.  8) 
says :  "Where  one's  own  ideals  are  opposed  by  his  desires 
...  if  the  conflict  can  be  settled  by  thinking  about  the 
matter  and  definitely  deciding  to  give  up  one  of  the  op- 
posing tendencies,  and  acting  accordingly,  .  .  .  unity  and 
strength  of  personality  tend  to  be  developed  and  estab- 
lished." Each  of  us  can  testify  to  the  truth  of  this.  Every 
time  we  relinquish  a  desire  for  the  sake  of .  an  ideal,  we 
feel  better,  we  feel  stronger,  we  feel  more  ready  to  face  the 
world.  To  have  an  ideal,  a  standard  of  action  higher  than 
we  feel  capable  of  reaching  now,  but  which  we  are  de- 
termined to  reach  sometime,  will  raise  individuality  to  its 


580  PERSONALITY  AND  PERSUASION 

strongest,  and  prepare  it  to  be  transformed  into  personality. 

Let  the  speaker  not  forget  that: 

While  he  must  develop  a  strong  individuality  as  a 
basis  for  the  personality  he  needs,  yet,  if  he  becomes 
content  with  mere  individuality,  a  strong  individual  force 
imposing  itself  on  others,  he  is  likely  to  find  himself 
totally  devoid  of  effective  persuasion,  his  greatest  need 
in  speech. 


SOCIAL  PERSONALITY,  THE  TRANSFORMER  FOR 
INDIVIDUALITY 

What,  then,  is  to  transform  Individuality  into  Person- 
ality— a  personality  that  will  persuade?  We  have  quoted 
Professor  Putnam  (p.  571)  as  saying:  "Personality  is 
.  .  .  the  influence,  force,  or  power,  which  one  exerts,  or 
may  exert,  in  consequence  of  his  individuality.  It  is  the 
result  of  individuality  rather  than  individuality  alone." 
Professor  Chancellor  (Motives,  Ideals,  and  Values  in 
Education,  p.  346)  adds  this  thought:  "Personality  tran- 
scends individuality,  even  transforming  it,  reducing  (as  it 
were)  the  various  ores  of  the  original  soul,  each  to  its 
pure  metal/'  Will  the  development  of  personality  always 
effect  this  transforming?  We  have  found  that  it  will  not 
(see  the  discussion  of  Different  Kinds  of  Personality,  pp. 
574-576).  If  a  man  reacts  to  the  sense-impressions  he 
receives  in  only  some  narrow  field  of  activity,  he  may  de- 
velop a  decided  personality,  yet  he  may  only  intensify 
his  individuality.  What,  then,  is  the  transforming  force? 
It  is  social  personality. 


SOCIAL  PERSONALITY  58 1 

When  one  has  become  a  strong  individuality,  that  is, 
when  he  has  become,  and  has  recognized  himself  as,  a 
self-directing,  self-governing,  individual  force,  the  one 
thing  that  can  save  him  from  becoming  too  far  indi- 
vidualized, is  the  development  of  a  social  personality. 

Professor  McVannel  (Philosophy  of  Education,  p.  115) 
says :  "The  perfect  realization  of  a  man's  nature  is  possible 
on]y  in  anrl  thrnugh  the  identification  of  his  personal  good 
with  the  universal  good.  .  .  .  Self-realization  is  a  process 
in  which  the  self  (a)  comes  to  be  more  completely  defined, 
i.  e.,  individualized,  (b)  but  defined  through  its  membership 
in  the  larger  unity."  This  is  the  meaning  we  would  give 
to  "social  personality"  when  we  say  that  it  is  the  thing  that 
transforms  mere  individuality  into  real  personality. 

Each  one  must  make  this  transformation  for  himself, 
by  coming  to  know  himself  as  a  member  of  the  great 
human  society  in  which  he  finds  himself — coming  to 
know  his  dependence  upon  and  his  duty  toward  his  fel- 
low-men in  all  the  walks  and  activities  of  life. 

This  knowledge  of  himself,  one  can  gain  only  by  trying 
himself,  that  is,  by  reacting  to  every  important  social  con- 
dition with  which  he  comes  in  contact. 

(It  will  be  observed  that  we  are  using  the  words  "society" 
and  "social"  in  their  broadest  meaning,  including  all  the 
relations  of  man  to  men,  and  comprising  all  the  smaller 
"societies,"  religious,  benevolent,  professional,  educational, 
political,  industrial,  financial,  commercial,  and  "social.") 

When  one  attempts  to  "find"  himself  as  a  member  in 
the  great  social  order,  he  must  not  only  be  wide-enough- 
awake  to  be  keenly  conscious  of  every  important  condition 


582  PERSONALITY  AND  PERSUASION 

around  him,  and  strong  enough  to  take  some  attitude  toward 
each  of  those  conditions,  but: 

He  must  also  take  account  of  others'  attitudes.  Growth 
of  personality  depends  largely  on  one's  being  able  to 
discern  and  understand  the  desires,  attitudes,  hopes,  am- 
bitions, and  ideals  of  others. 

Professor  McVannel  (Philosophy  of  Education,  pp. 
70-71)  says:  "Personal  consciousness  is  the  result  of  a 
constant  give  and  take,  an  unceasing  social  synthesis.  .  .  . 
Self-activity  is  the  essence  of  personality,  .  .  .  but  the  true 
permanence  of  the  self"  (the  personality)  "lies  in  the  process 
of  its  growth  in  the  social  environment." 

It  is  this  process  of  "give  and  take,"  or  "social  syn- 
thesis," or  building  one's  self  into  the  lives  of  others, 
that,  alone,  can  develop  a  social  personality  strong 
enough  to  be  a  power  in  the  affairs  of  men. 

Professor  J.  M.  Baldwin  (Mental  Development  in  Child 
and  Race,  pp.  357-358)  points  to  the  fact  that  "the  child 
makes  up  his  personality  ...  by  imitation,  out  of  the 
'copy'  set  in  the  actions,  temper,  emotions,  of  the  persons 
who  build  around  him  the  social  enclosure  of  his  child- 
hood." True  personality  in  the  man  is  built  in  precisely 
the  same  manner. 

The  speaker  must  build  his  personality  out  of  the 
"copy"  found  in  the  larger  social  life  around  him,  if  he 
hopes  to  persuade  those  whose  lives  make  up  that  social 
life. 

When  one  builds  his  personality  out  of  his  environment, 
does  it  mean  that  he  ceases  to  be  his  real  or  former  self? 
By  no  means.  To  discard  one's  former  self,  would  be  to 
discard  personality.  The  speaker  should  relinquish  only 


THE  ELEMENT  OF  EMOTION  "583 

such  ideas  as  seem  inadaptable  to  conditions  as  he  finds 
them.  When  the  public  speaker  attempts  to  build  his  per- 
sonality out  of  the  "copy"  surrounding  him,  he  will  prob- 
ably agree  with  Professor  Kirkpatrick  (see  The  Individual 
in  the  Making,  pp.  253-254),  that  the  best  success  in  this 
process  can  come  only  when  he  holds  fast  to  his  funda- 
mental principles  of  life,  but  remains  constantly  ready 
to  adapt  himself  to  changing  conditions  in  affairs  of  busi- 
ness, of  politics,  of  education,  and  even  of  religion.  Only 
by  these  two  acts,  by  retaining  the  best  of  himself  and 
by  gaining  the  best  from  the  new  things  around  him,  can 
the  speaker  hope  to  acquire  the  social  personality  which 
he  should  have — which  he  must  have  before  he  can  ex- 
ercise a  strong  power  of  persuasion  over  an  audience. 


THE  ELEMENT  OF  EMOTION  IN  SOCIAL  PERSONALITY 

In  building  personality,  nothing  is  a  more  important 
factor  than  emotion.  This  fact  is  attested  by  eminent 
authority.  Dr.  Prince  (The  Dissociation  of  a  Person- 
ality, p.  22)  says:  "Particular  emotional  states,  like  fear 
or  anxiety  or  general  mental  distress,  have  the  tendency 
to  disintegrate  the  mental  organization  in  such  a  way  that 
the  normal  associations  become  severed  or  loosened."  In 
this  testimony,  we  find,  as  we  often  found  in  the  study 
of  the  emotions,  the  exceedingly  bad  effects  which  strong 
destructive  emotions  have  upon  the  personality.  The  effect 
of  strong  constructive  emotions  is  just  as  great  in  the  op- 
posite direction — just  as  beneficial  as  the  effect  of  the  others 
is  detrimental.  On  this  point  we  quote  the  same  authority 


584  PERSONALITY  AND  PERSUASION 

(Ibid.,  p.  324:  "The  induction  of  an  exalting  emotion 
is  the  most  powerful  agent  in  maintaining  .  .  .  mental  and 
bodily  stability."  Professor  Ribot  (Psychology  of  Emo* 
tion,  p.  no)  says  that  emotion  "springs  from  the  inmost 
personality  of  the  individual,  and  participates  in  its  stability 
and  its  instability."  These  are  two  of  the  most  important 
truths  in  the  life  of  the  speaker,  or  the  life  of  anyone — 
that  destructive  emotion  (see  the  chapter  on  The  Feelings 
and  Their  Sources)  destroys  the  stability  of  personality, 
while  constructive  emotion  is  the  most  powerful  means 
for  maintaining  that  stability. 

The  personality  which  the  speaker  should  build,  is  not 
only  strong  within  itself,  it  is  also  capable  of  winning 
others  to  itself.  To  persuade  should  be  the  speaker's  con- 
stant thought  and  aim  in  developing  his  personality.  In 
persuasion,  emotion  is  even  more  powerful  than  in  main- 
taining the;  stability  of  the  personality.  A  speaker's  ideas 
may  not  join  his  life  closely  enough  to  the  lives  of  his 
hearers  to  enable  him  to  lead  his  hearers  by  persuasion; 
but  emotions  which  both  he  and  they  have  experienced, 
will  bind  his  hearers  to  him.  We  have  all  seen  this  fact 
demonstrated  many  times.  To  the  proof  of  our  experience, 
M.  Ribot  adds  the  strength  of  his  testimony  when  he  says 
(Psychology  of  Emotion,  p.  291):  "It  would  be  a 
psychological  absurdity  to  suppose  that  a  bare,  dry  idea, 
an  abstracted  conception  without  emotional  accompani- 
ments, and  resembling  a  geometrical  notion,  could  have  the 
least  influence  on  human  conduct."  Influence  on  human 
conduct!  That  is  the  very  essence  of  persuasion.  And 
Dr.  Ribot  is  eminently  correct  in  declaring  that  emotion 
is  the  main-spring  in  that  influence.  The  present  writer 


THE  ELEMENT  OF  EMOTION  585 

has  seen  this  truth  demonstrated  many  times.  No  wonder 
that  emotion  influences  others,  for  it  arises  in  the  speaker 
because  he  himself  is  influenced  by  the  object  of  the  feeling. 
Like  begets  like,  hence  the  speaker's  influence  on  others 
when  he  himself  is  moved. 

Just  as  emotion  is  needed  to  influence  human  conduct, 
so  a  realization  of  something  influencing  human  con- 
duct, is  necessary  to  produce  the  emotion  which  the 
speaker  needs. 

For  example,  a  speaker  wishes  to  persuade  his  audience 
to  adopt  a  certain  social  reform.  To  build  the  personality 
capable  of  persuading  his  audience  to  do  so,  the  speaker 
must  so  thoroughly  put  himself  in  the  places  of  his  hearerX  j 
and  must  so  fully  feel  how  the  thing  he  would  have  re-N^ 
formed  is  blighting  the  lives  or  destroying  the  happiness  f 
or  lessening  the  success  of  his  hearers,  that  he  cannot  help 
being  stirred  to  action  to  reform  that  thing.  To  quote 
again  from  Ribot  (Ibid.,  p.  295)  :  "The  theoretic  concep- 
tion of  a  higher  moral  ideal,  of  a  step  in  advance,  is  not 
sufficient,  it  needs  a  powerful  emotion  leading  to  action, 
and,  by  its  contagion,  communicating  its  own  impulse  to 
others."  To  have  such  an  emotion,  and  the  personality 
which  it  produces,  the  speaker  must  clearly  conceive  and 
fully  respond  to,  actual,  definite  things  which  are  in- 
fluencing the  lives  of  those  to  whom  he  expects  to  speak. 

What  are  the  principal  things  which  influence  the  lives 
of  those  to  whom  the  speaker  is  likely  to  speak?  i.  To 
begin  at  the  bottom  of  the  list,  first,  there  are  those  things 
which  affect  the  physical  existence  and  physical  comfort 
of  each  person  and  his  immediate  family.  2.  Next  we 
think  of  the  things  which  affect  the  safety  of  the  property 


586  PERSONALITY  AND  PERSUASION 

each  hearer  may  possess.  3.  Closely  related  to  these  are 
the  things  which  affect  each  hearer's  opportunities  to  make 
money.  4.  Next,  perhaps,  come  those  things  which  affect 
the  opportunities  for  the  educational  development  of  each 
hearer,  his  family,  and  his  neighbors.  5.  Close  to  these  are 
the  things  which  affect  the  community  conveniences,  the 
community  beauty,  and  the  community  pride  in  the  city 
or  neighborhood  in  which  each  hearer  lives.  6.  Then  come 
those  things  which  increase  or  diminish  the  enjoyments  of 
the  hearer.  7.  Closely  related  to  these  are  those  things 
which  affect  the  influence  and  power — social,  financial,  or 
political — of  the  hearer,  among  his  fellow-men.  8.  Above 
all  these,  lie  those  things  which  affect  the  safety,  the  dignity, 
the  honor  of  the  hearer's  country.  9.  Highest  of  all  are 
those  things  which  influence  the  relations  of  the  hearer  to 
Humanity  and  to  God. 

These  are  the  things  which  move  men  to  action.  From 
full  realization  of  how  these  things  are  influencing  the 
lives  of  his  hearers,  must  the  speaker  build  his  emotion 
if  he  would  have  the  personality  that  will  persuade  his 
hearers  to  adopt  his  views  and  act  upon  them. 


THE  ELEMENT  OF  THE  AUDIENCE 

The  vast  benefit  which  large,  strong,  constructive  emo- 
tion brings  to  the  speaker,  does  not  end  in  enabling  the 
speaker  to  persuade  his  audience.  If  that  emotion  is  created 
by  the  speaker's  contemplating  things  which  vitally  affect 
the  lives  of  his  audience,  it  brings  a  response  from  the 
audience  which  is  beyond  value.  Who  can  estimate  the 


THE  ELEMENT  OF  THE  AUDIENCE  587 

value  of  a  great  constructive  emotion,  experienced  in  com- 
mon with  many  other  persons?  It  lifts  us  out  of  our 
sordid  selves  pnH  gjyps  us  a  momentary  glimpse  of  what 
we  might  be.  How  often  we  hear  a  public  speaker  say: 
"The  response  of  that  vast  audience  carried  me  beyond 
myself."  Such  instances  are  not  accidents;  they  follow 
an  important  law.  G.  Le  Bon  (Psychologic  des  Foules) 
states  the  law  thus:  "Only  collectively  is  humanity  cap- 
able of  great  acts  of  disinterestedness  and  devotion."  This 
is  the  part  the  audience  plays  in  the  act  of  persuasion.  It 
returns  to  the  speaker  a  collective  mind  and  a  collective 
heart,  capable  of  merging  all  separate  interests  into  one 
common  interest  and  capable  of  giving  a  common  devotion 
to  a  common  cause.  This  is  the  speaker's  opportunity; 
it  arises  only  when  the  speaker  makes  the  collective  mind 
in  his  audience  by  filling  the  minds  of  all  before  him  with 
thoughts  of  some  great  common  need.  The  speaker  turns 
that  opportunity  into  real  success  only  when  he  fills  the 
hearts  of  all  before  him  with  a  strong  emotion  toward  this 
common  need. 

The  time  when,  best  of  all,  the  speaker  wins  this  great 
response  from  a  collective  mind  and  heart  in  all  his 
hearers,  is  when  he  gets  them  all  to  working  with  him  on 
his  theme. 

Great  persuasion  results  not  from  the  amount  of  him- 
self which  the  speaker  gives  out,  but  from  the  amount 
of  themselves  which  he  can  induce  his  hearers  to  put 
into  the  theme  discussed. 

Ribot  states  this  law  of  mind  in  these  words :  "A  man 
attaches  himself  to  another  rather  in  proportion  to  the 
services  he  renders  than  to  those  he  receives  from  the 


588  PERSONALITY  AND  PERSUASION 

other — he  has  put  more  of  himself  into  the  other."  He 
then  cites  this  remarkable  illustration:  "In  the  proscrip- 
tions of  Marius  and  Sulla,  many  Roman  sons,  through 
fear,  gave  up  their  fathers;  but  not  one  father,  his  son. 
In  the  Roman  family,  the  father  could  do  much  for  the 
.son ;  the  son,  nothing  for  the  father."  This  law  is  strikingly 
effective  in  speaking. 

Each  member  of  an  audience  will  be  devoted  to  the 
cause  which  the  speaker  presents,  in  proportion  to  the 
amount  of  thought  and  feeling  he  has  put  into  that  cause 
as  the  speaker  has  presented  it. 

For  this  reason,  the  first  question  a  speaker  should  ask, 
when  he  begins  the  active  preparation  of  a  speech  which 
he  hopes  to  make  persuasive,  is:  'What  is  it  I  wish  the 
audience  to  do?"  When  he  has  clearly  conceived  the  an- 
swer to  this  question,  the  speaker  is  then  ready  to  begin 
the  work  of  effective  persuasion. 


THE  WELL-ROUNDED  SPEECH   AND   THE   WELL- 
ROUNDED   SPEAKER 

Professor  De  Garmo  (Interest  and  Education,  p.  133) 
declares  that  "personality  is  governed  by  method;  method 
is  permeated  by  personality."  This  brings  before  us  the 
last  thought  which  we  shall  state  concerning  personality, 
namely,  the  relation  between  the  work  we  have  suggested, 
in  this  chapter,  for  the  development  of  personality,  and 
the  work  outlined  in  the  preceding  chapters  where  the  effort 
was,  primarily,  a  search  for  the  best  methods  by  which  to 
produce  a  speech.  Each  of  these  efforts — to  produce 


WELL-ROUNDED  SPEECH  AND  SPEAKER       589 

method  and  to  produce  personality — demands  the  aid  of 
the  other.  If  a  speaker  confines  his  attention  to  method, 
he  is  almost  sure  to  lack  the  personality  which  his  fullest 
success  demands.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  he  devotes  his 
attention  wholly  to  personality  and  slights  method,  his 
success  will  not  only  be  lessened  through  lack  of  method, 
but,  through  this  very  lack  of  method  his  personality  also 
will  suffer  in  any  particular  effort  before  an  audience. 

This  mutual  need  of  method  and  personality  leads  up  to 
the  last  question  we  shall  consider  in  this  book.  That 
question  is,  what  constitutes  a  well-rounded  speech  and 
when  may  a  speaker  be  considered  a  well-rounded  speaker  ? 
We  hope  that  by  this  time  we  have  made  it  consistently 
clear  that  any  theme  presented  in  words  to  an  audience, 
can  be  considered  a  well-rounded  speech  (i)  only  when 
the  speaker  has  clearly  conceived,  out  of  the  active  affairs 
of  men,  some  actual  public  need;  (2)  only  when  the 
speaker  has  clearly  conceived  some  means  for  meeting  that 
need;  (3)  only  when  the  speaker  has  clearly  conceived  his 
plan  for  employing  the  means  to  meet  that  need;  (4)  only 
when  the  speaker  has  thoroughly  tested  the  practicability 
of  his  means  and  his  plan,  by  trying  them  upon  an 
imaginary  audience  until  his  conceptions  have  developed 
into  memory,  action,  emotion,  and  voice;  and,  (5)  only 
when  the  speaker  has  come  to  employ  appropriately  and 
spontaneously  his  action,  his  emotion,  and  his  voice,  in 
the  seven  modes  of  emphasis.  When  the  speaker  has  met 
these  requirements,  his  speech  will  satisfy  the  standard 
set  by  Fechner,  when  (Vorstellung  die  Aestetic,  end  of 
Vol.  i)  he  measures  all  art  by  its  "outcome  for  the  well- 
being  of  mankind  for  time  and  eternity."  The  speech  will 


590  PERSONALITY  AND  PERSUASION 

then  be  ready  to  do  what  Wundt  (Elements  of  Physiological 
Psychology,  II,  221)  declares  true  art  should  do  when 
he  says:  "High  art  always  arouses  moral  or  religious 
ideas."  Such  a  speech  is  indeed  well-rounded. 

We  trust  that,  by  this  time,  the  student  of  speech  who 
has  performed  the  various  experiments  in  speech-building 
outlined  through  this  volume,  has  found  sufficient  pleasure 
and  profit  in  developing  the  sources  of  speech  within  his 
own  nature,  to  fill  him  with  a  desire  and  a  determination 
to  develop  these  sources  of  speech-power  every  day  through- 
out his  life.  The  speaker  who  does  daily  develop  his  sources 
of  speech  till  his  senses  bring  him  into  keen  contact  with 
everything  about  him,  till  he  assumes  a  vigorous  attitude 
toward  all  the  important  activities  of  men  and  takes  due 
account  of  others'  attitudes,  till  his  imagination  is  true 
and  trusty,  till  he  forms  a  clear  and  full  conception  of 
everything  to  which  he  turns  his  thought,  always  having 
in  mind  the  benefit  that  thing  can  bring  to  the  people,  and 
till  he  develops  every  theme  he  presents,  according  to  the 
outline  of  a  well-rounded  speech — such  a  speaker  will  soon 
become  known  as  a  well-rounded  speaker.  Such  a  speaker 
will  soon  have  that  badge  of  mastery  in  speaking, 
Effective  Persuasion. 


THE  END. 


GENERAL  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA— BERKELEY 


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